


The Gunner and the Grease Monkey

by White_Eyebrow



Series: G.I. Joe Season 3, Sunbowverse. [1]
Category: G.I. Joe (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Friendship, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-03
Updated: 2008-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-24 20:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10748790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Eyebrow/pseuds/White_Eyebrow
Summary: Roadblock and Cover Girl go on a special assignment, as G.I. Joe is outsourced by the Defense Department. A mystery awaits them in the City of Lights.Season 3, Episode 1.0





	1. Chow

GI Joe Headquarters - 0730 hrs.

 

_Oh Eight Hundred..._

Nowhere has the recent spate of budget cuts been more visible than in the chow hall of G.I. Joe Central Command. 

Roadblock looked over his ever shrinking supply list, and he frowned. He picked up his pen and scratched three more items off the list as their ranks continue to be gradually whittled down:

_No more of Rock n' Roll's deviled lox eggs... no more of Barbecue's bacon french toast rolls... no more of Leatherneck's jelly and steak sliders._

He looked out over the mess to the sea of obsidian clad DoD agents that had supplanted the more familiar green shirts. A junior line cook approached and handed him the manifest.

Roadblock read the heading, "This doesn't look like the standard form. What is a DFAC?"

"Dining Facility."

Roadblock rolled his eyes. He signed the form, but not before scratching out the heading, replacing it with the words 'Chow Hall'. He looked to the wall clock, not so much as to gauge the time, but rather to regard it as a countdown, and he left.

He entered the administrative building, wondering if he'd ever walk these halls again after today, and he went straight for the south corner elevator. The door to the elevator opened. He paused as an intern brushed past him.

"Excuse me, sir."

And he frowned. _Another DoD Blacksuit._  He entered the south corner elevator on his way to the command wing. As the doors started to close, he heard a familiar voice.

"Hold the door please."

Roadblock pressed the button just in time, and Cover Girl entered the elevator. She looked like she had just gotten out the shower: her hair was damp, as if it were towel-dried, and it hung mussed just past her shoulders. She finished fastening the buttons on her vest when she noticed that Roadblock was in the elevator with her.

She smiled. "Marvs! Long time no see, big guy."

"How've you been, Courtney?"

"Running late as usual."

His hand hovered over the buttons. "Floor?"

"Command please. Thank-you."

He snorted. "I'm headed there also."

"Flint's office at Oh eight hundred?"

"Yep."

She snorted. "Looks like they're doubling up on the layoffs."

"It's been two years since the Himalayan incident: no more Cobra means no more Joe," he said, as the doors again came to a close.

The elevator jolted as the pulleys and cables raised the conveyance to the upper levels. Only the electric hum of the motor broke the uncomfortable silence. Roadblock wasn't one to engage in small-talk, but it was preferable to the anxiety he felt over the impending meeting with Flint. Moreover, on the rare occasions that he happened to speak to Cover Girl, they were always pleasant to one another.

"So, you're growing your hair out, I see?"

"Yes I am." She combed her hair with her fingers, and clipped her auburn locks into a ponytail. "I see you've shaved your goatee. It makes you look younger."

"Thanks." Roadblock stroked his bald chin as an afterthought.

"Was it time for a change?"

"Yea. How about you?"

"Naw, before I became a Joe I always preferred to wear it longer. I cut it when I joined the unit because Hawk kept getting me confused for Scarlett. Since she is on indefinite leave, I figured it was safe to grow it out again."

"I guess it's a moot point now. Are you going back to modeling?"

"Heavens no! After twenty-five, you're considered over the hill. Actually, I've been asked to accept a teaching position at Ft. Knox."

"Do tell."

"They're looking for specialists with practical battlefield experience. Colonel Peters wants to publish some of the engine modifications I did to the Wolverines and apply them to the next generation of heavy assault vehicles."

"Damn Girl, you got it goin' on!"

She blushed. "What about you? Are you going back to the regular Army?"

"No, I'm not going to renew my contract. I've been wanting to open my own bistro and maybe write a few books on French cuisine. Now that Cobra is done, It's time for Roadblock's fun in the sun _._ " 

A snort escaped her. "I don't know what I'm going to miss more: your cooking, or your off-the-cuff poetry."

Roadblock grinned. "My rhymes? Well, I have to be in the right mood to make those happen, but I'll see if I can whip up a few before they kick us to the curb."

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors slowly creaked open. What lay before them was a long hallway leading to the command offices and mission briefing rooms. What was once a bustling corridor of activity has, over the course of the year, become a sparse dimly lit passageway.

_Depressing._

They walked the path in silence; the sounds of their footsteps echoed unchallenged. As they passed by the conference room, through the open door they could see Mainframe performing routine diagnostics on one of the computers. They rounded the corner leading to General Hawk's office. It was locked with the blinds drawn, as if it were deserted. To the right, at the end of the adjoining corridor, was a singly lit office. They were close enough to hear voices, but were too far away to discern what was being said. As they approached, their footfalls that preceded them hushed the voices. They stopped just outside the office of the senior warrant officer. Roadblock waited for Cover Girl to finish fussing with her hair before knocking on the door.

"Come," Flint bellowed.

Roadblock and Cover Girl entered. Save for Flint's Ivy League diploma on the wall behind his desk, the office was pretty much the same as Flint's predecessor left it: Spartan. Flint was sitting at his desk with his arms folded. On a couch on the far wall sat Beach Head and Stalker. They were subordinate to Flint in the chain of command. Roadblock and Cover Girl stood in front of the desk and saluted at attention. Flint waived off the formalities.

"At ease. Do you know why you're here?"

"According to the scuttle _butt,_ the word is we're being _cut._ " Roadblock shared a knowing look with Cover Girl.

"No. You're both being promoted," Flint said. "You two are going to be our newest section chiefs. You will all be reporting directly to Stalker. Hawk will make a formal announcement and outline of your duties when he gets back from Washington by the time you return."

"Return from where sir?" Cover Girl asked.

Beach Head rose from the couch and handed them each a sealed envelope. "It's not a Black OP, per se, but it isn't on the books either. You two are going to be point men on a joint international anti-terrorist cooperative between the CIA and the DGSE—"

"The DGSE... that's French Intelligence," Cover Girl said. "You mean to say we're going to France?"

"She's got looks _and_ brains," Beach Head said with a glower for having been interrupted. "Please note that this an experimental cooperative, and you are there in an advisory capacity"—Beach Head regarded Roadblock directly, looking him in the eye—"Translation: no _ma deuce_."

"Understood, Master Sergeant," Cover Girl said, interrupting him again. "But, I'm a little confused as to why the CIA handed this off to us?"

"That's a good question," Stalker replied. "But, it's as simple as this: the DGSE wanted GI Joe, and General Hawk handpicked you two. That's why your promotions were fast-tracked: so you would have the necessary security clearance."

Beach Head concluded with, "Everything you need to know is outlined in your dossiers. Your flight leaves tomorrow morning."

Roadblock and Cover Girl saluted and left the office. Once they were out of earshot, Beach Head angrily paced.

"You're going to wear a hole in my carpet, Beach."

"Sorry Flint, but you know this operation stinks!"

"Agreed, but what do you want me to do about it?"

"Nothing, I'm just venting. What do you think Stalker? You've been awfully quiet sittin' over there."

"Nothing other than the obvious: that Roadblock and Cover Girl are going to be pawns in some greasy bureaucrat's wet-dream for political clout. Ever since the oversight committee declared that Cobra was no longer exigent to national security, GI Joe has been chop-shopped and kicked around by the DoD. I also think that if recent intelligence reports are accurate, the cold war will be over in a matter of months. When that happens, GI Joe officially becomes obsolete."

"True," Flint said. "Which is why, ever since they put another star on his shoulder, Hawk's been in the trenches at the Pentagon using all of his influence to justify GI Joe to the big Brass. He believes Cobra has gone underground and is waiting for something as destabilizing as the fall of communism to strike."

"Do you believe that Flint?" Beach Head asked.

"I don't know. On one hand, it's been over twenty months since we've seen any sign of Cobra. Even their front company, Extensive Enterprises, has filed for bankruptcy and auctioned off its assets. But, on the other hand, we've been unable to recover any bodies from Cobra's upper echelon in the ruins of Cobra-La. I would have to say I'm on the fence, Beach."

"Be that as it may, for the moment we can't do anything about Cobra. So, given that this mission is suspicious at best, and given that the DoD has us by the short hairs, it begs the question: what is Hawk thinking sending in Roadblock and Cover Girl? What makes a gunner and a grease monkey qualified for something like this?"

Flint and Stalker didn't have an answer.

GI JOE Headquarters – 2343 hrs

Cover Girl tossed and turned in her bed. Her mind was distracted with thoughts of the mission. Staring at her wall clock from one fruitless minute to the next, she eventually decided to sneak into the galley to raid the refrigerator. She threw on an undershirt and her battle fatigues and went to the chow hall. Once there, she saw Roadblock at the stove, cooking something that smelled delicious, and Bazooka sitting at the prep table with a dinner napkin tucked into his shirt.

Bazooka regarded her. "Hi, Cover Girl."

"Hello, Bazooka. Hello, Marvs... you couldn't sleep either?"

Roadblock shrugged. "I decided to stay up to get preadjusted to the time difference."

"And, I'm just here for the grub," Bazooka added.

"I'm making T-bones with a side of buttered broccoli and cauliflower. Do you want some, Courtney?"

"Yummy!" Bazooka roared.

"No thanks," Cover Girl replied. "I just need something to help me sleep. I'll nuke some hot chocolate."

You will not drink that powdered concoction on my watch. I am going to make you hot cocoa with baker's chocolate and goat's milk sweetened with honey and cinnamon," Roadblock declared. He gathered the ingredients.

"Yummy!" Bazooka roared.

"Er, I didn't realize we kept all that stockpiled in the kitchen," Cover Girl said.

"Since the _Culinary Arts_ is my secondary MOS, I've been given a modest discretionary budget that allows me to experiment with different menu items. It's all part of providing my fellow Joe's with a well-balanced diet."

Cover Girl snorted.

"So, why can't you sleep?"

She shrugged. "Can't stop thinking about the mission."

"What mission?" Bazooka interrupted.

"It's a secret." Roadblock answered.

Cover Girl continued, "Doesn't it all seem strange to you, Marvs?"

"Of course."

"So, how are we going to pull it off?"

"Hawk believes we have the _skill_ , so all we need is the _will_."

"That's not bad."

"Meh, it's late." Roadblock took the steaks and vegetables off the heat, and he served a portion to Bazooka.

"Thanks, Roadblock," Bazooka said.

"You're welcome." He efficiently proceeded to stir the baker's chocolate into the now warm goat's milk.

"Well, this isn't so much about my trust in Hawk as it is my distrust of the suits behind the scene," Cover Girl said.

"Fair enough. But, as Joes I believe we will nevertheless complete this mission like any other in the true GI Joe fashion."

Cover Girl yawned. "With tenacity, courage, and perseverance?"

Roadblock shrugged. "I was thinking more along the lines of slopping through it haphazardly, waiting until the last possible minute to pull it out of the fire before it all hits the fan... But, I like your answer better."

"Oh, Marvs, that's terrible!" Cover Girl said disapprovingly, all the while trying to hide her amusement.

Roadblock finished mixing the chocolate, and he served it to Cover Girl. As he was pouring her drink, he saw Bazooka reach over and grab a saltshaker. Roadblock glared as Bazooka held the saltshaker over his steak. "Is there something wrong with your food?"

Bazooka – now cognizant of his faux pas – quickly put down the saltshaker. "Sorry, force of habit."


	2. Standard Issue

20th arrondissement – 1951 hrs

Roadblock and Cover Girl arrived in Paris without incident. Their flight was long so they were allowed some time to freshen up at their hotel rooms. When the DGSE agents picked them up from the hotel, they were able to take in some of the sights of the surrounding arrondissement (or district). The view from the passenger's seat was modest but scenic with a number of working-class neighborhoods. The 19th century architecture of the many tightly-packed buildings and narrow streets gave it an old-world charm.

They arrived at DGSE headquarters and were escorted to the 4th floor, reserved for the counter-terrorism division. The elevator doors opened into a small lobby with a security station. After they were signed in, they were escorted through a set of electronic double-doors that led into the main office, consisting of twenty desks in the open area manned by agents. There was an office set in each corner of the room that was reserved for command personnel.

An agent greeted them. "Mademoiselle, monsieur please wait here; the director will be right with you." He left to one of the corner offices.

Roadblock grunted.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. It's certainly functional, but I was expecting something more."

"Well, not everyone has GI Joe's budget."

"These days even GI Joe doesn't have GI Joe's budget," Roadblock said. He adjusted his collar, visibly uncomfortable.

"For heaven's sake, what is it now?"

"I haven't worn this uniform in years. I don't remember it being so tight."

"I know what you mean," said Cover Girl. She straightened her skirt around her hips. "I think mine must have shrunk."

"At least yours 'shrunk' in all the right places. Tell me again why we have to wear our Army Greens?"

"Beach Head said it had something to do with protocol and professionalism... I wasn't really listening."

"I guess I can put up with it for now, but this heat isn't helping... Aargh!"

She smirked. "Stop whining, you big baby. I think our CO is coming over."

The director of the CIA/DGSE task force, Dr. Emile Métier, introduced himself. He was a short middle-aged man with thin gray hair and a pencil mustache. He had a good-natured countenance but, despite his mild manner, still had an air that commanded respect. Accompanying him was Agent Evrard – the DGSE field team leader for that division. He was a tall man in his early thirties with brown wavy hair and piercing green eyes. When he shook Cover Girl's hand, she appreciated the fact that he looked her in the eyes - not giving her the dreaded "elevator stare" that most men give her on first contact. After introductions were made, and a standard tour given, the four of them settled into the briefing room.

"Should we address you as Sergeant Cover Girl and Sergeant Roadblock?"

"Just 'Cover Girl' and 'Roadblock' is sufficient, Dr. Métier," Cover Girl said.

"Very well, Cover Girl and Roadblock, I realize the hour is late, and you must be tired from your long flight, so if you need to rest..."

"We would like to get started right away, actually," said Roadblock. He looked to Cover Girl for confirmation; she nodded in agreement.

"As you wish. Let's start first with some of the more classified material that is not in your dossiers. This cooperative is actually a continuation of the Worldwide Defense Center project that I and a group of sociologists started several years ago. It was an attempt to collect all the world's information on terrorist activities into one master database. The goal, of course, was to stop terrorism."

Cover Girl pursed her lips. "If memory serves, GI Joe ran security for that operation. Is that why you requested a GI Joe presence, Dr. Métier?"

"No. To be honest, I was originally against GI Joe involvement. While I was impressed with your team's anti-terror tactics, it was obvious that you were created specifically to counter the Cobra threat. As a result, you operate from the paradigm that all terrorism is influenced by criminal organizations. I believe that this reasoning is glib and counter-productive. My approach is more proactive in that it addresses the political and social causes of terrorist activity. Through patient intelligence-gathering and profiling, I believe it is possible to track patterns of behavior before they lead to violence; even going so far as to provide potential offenders a forum to address their grievances without fear of prosecution."

"In other words, we try to catch them while they're young and idealistic," Agent Evrard added. "However, even Freud said, 'sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.' That's why _I_ pushed for you Joes to get involved: to give Dr. Métier's vision a counter-balance. If you sign off on this, it could give us the legitimacy we need."

"Unfortunately, with Cobra inactive, GI Joe's voice doesn't carry the weight back home that it used to," Roadblock said.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Agent Evrard said. "But maybe we could help each other yet. GI Joe still has considerable repute with the rest of the world. If this cooperative is a success, it could buy you valuable leverage, don't you agree?"

"I'll buy that," Roadblock answered. "Dr. Métier, you said this project was a 'continuation'. May I ask what happened with the work you started at the Worldwide Defense Center?"

Dr. Métier frowned. "It failed miserably."

"Oh? Why is that?" Cover Girl asked.

"It started on too grand a scale. With all the politics involved it degenerated into a – how do you American's say – a 'pissing contest'? I have since learned from that mistake; this time we are starting small and working outward. Member nations who wish to join must apply by charter. As we gain acceptance I expect our membership will grow."

"Dr. Métier, I also get the impression that the support for what you're trying to accomplish here is _shaky_ at best," Roadblock mused. "I'm curious as to what prompted your government to give you the go ahead with this?"

"As you know, Monsieur Roadblock, German unification is imminent. No one in the intelligence community knows what to expect, given my country's history with Germany. Cold war tactics don't apply anymore, thus I was able to capitalize on my government's hunger for 'unconventional' solutions," Dr. Métier said. He glanced at his watch.

Dr. Métier continued, "I suppose this would be an appropriate segue into our current operation. Our intelligence operatives have been surveilling a radical group of student nationals affiliated with the communist party. They are protesting that unification is a capitalist scheme that will bring about economic collapse in Germany. Up until now their activities have been benign. However, we have evidence that they have been contacted by an Algerian terrorist cell leader. Ideally, I would like to counsel the students before they tread that slippery slope, but our primary goal is to apprehend the Algerian contact."

"Do you have a strike team in place?" Roadblock questioned.

" _Oui_ , we have an _action team_ on standby," Agent Evrard said. "The operation will take place at midnight. You can sit in if you like."

"Definitely," Cover Girl said, enthused.

"If there are no more questions"—Dr. Métier again checked his wristwatch—"Agent Evrard and I must take our leave of you to prepare for tonight's raid. If you need anything, all of the agents here speak English. Adieu."

Roadblock and Cover Girl were left alone in the conference room. Cover Girl got up to close the door, affording them some privacy.

"So, what do you think?" she said.

"I think the doctor's heart is in the right place, but I'm skeptical that this'll work. Then again international politics isn't my area of expertise."

"Mine neither. I don't know how Hawk deals with this stuff everyday."

"At least I'm starting to get an idea of what Hawk had in mind sending _us_ here."

"You mean 'us' as in _me and you_?"

"No – I'm still in the dark on that one – what I mean is 'us' as in GI Joe. You heard what Evrard said about gaining leverage with the international intelligence community, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I don't think that this is what Hawk had in mind. It would imply that he's scrambling for busy work."

Roadblock arched an eyebrow. "How do you figure? Terror is terror. That's why GI Joe _is."_

"What GI Joe  _is_  is America's daring highly-trained special mission force. Our purpose is to defend human freedom against Cobra: a ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world... why are you staring at me like that?"

"I've never heard our mission statement worded that way before, it sounds so... campy."

"Really?" Cover Girl pondered on this point, but casually dismissed it. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is this: if we have indeed succeeded in our mission to stop Cobra, then GI Joe is no longer a justifiable expenditure and _should_ be disbanded...will you stop looking at me like that; it wasn't _that_ bad!"

"I'm sorry," Roadblock held up his hands in surrender. "Tell you what: after we check in with Beach Head, let's go grab a bite to eat. I know this great place across the Seine."

"Sure, but how do _you_ know about it?"

"I spent some time here in Paris getting my certification from the Escoffier School of Culinary Arts. I've been to every restaurant worth eating at in this city."

"Fine with me, but don't you think Hawk will mind us eating at someplace so fancy?"

"Hey, girl, I didn't come to Paris to eat at McDonald's"

6th arrondissement – 0255 hrs

By early morning, the streets in front of the Chalgrin Inn were quiet and deserted as an unmarked black van drove by - parking inconspicuously across the street. Hours before, four men from the DGSE entered the building and got a room to stake out a meeting between a group of student nationals and a known terrorist cell. However, the supposed time of the meeting had long passed. The room had been quiet all day and there were no signs of activity. Everyone involved in the DGSE action team was starting to get nervous. From inside the black van, the field team leaders: Dr. Métier, Agent Evrard, Roadblock and Cover Girl were monitoring the operation.

"Agent Evrard, I think it is time to move in. Obviously our intel is flawed," said Dr. Métier.

"I agree," Agent Evrard replied. Putting in his ear piece and turning on the security monitors, he contacted the action team and gave the order to storm the room.

Roadblock shook Cover Girl awake. Since Midnight, they took turns napping in the backseat of the van, "Wake up Cover Girl, it's going down!"

Roadblock and Cover Girl watched the monitor from the action team's helmet cams. The team stormed and secured the room with efficiency. However, what they could see from the monitors was disturbing: the bodies of five college students dead for several hours.

"Everyone be advised, this is now a crime scene," Agent Evrard said solemnly.

Chalgrin Inn – 0713 hrs

It took a relatively short time for the DGSE forensics team to sweep the apartment. During that time, in an apartment down the hall, the team field leaders reviewed the video from the raid to plan their investigation. Once they were allowed to enter, they were instructed to wear latex gloves and shoe covers. As they approached the apartment entrance, Roadblock and Cover Girl were greeted by the familiar stench of death. Inside they got a closer look at the decaying corpses – it was more visceral to behold in person as opposed to on video. The positions of the bodies had already been outlined and tagged. Forensics agents where still present, however, taking pictures and collecting samples from the scene.

Cover Girl knelt over one of the bodies, shaking her head. "This one couldn't have been more than eighteen."

Agent Evrard shrugged. "That is of age."

"Yeah, man, but they're still just kids," Roadblock replied.

"You're right of course," Agent Evrard said soberly. "It looks like they were killed execution style by a single gunman. Notice the position of the first three, they are still lined up and have gunshot wounds in the back of the head. The other two must have realized they had nothing to lose and rushed the gunman. They obviously weren't fast enough; they each took one to the forehead and ended up laying here."

"Do we have a murder weapon?" Dr. Métier asked of one of the techs.

"Yes we do," the tech replied handing the gun to Agent Evrard in a hard foam-lined plastic box. "It is a 9mm automatic. We are about to send it to ballistics to match it with the slugs we pulled out of the baseboards."

"This gun is registered," Agent Evrard observed. "Did you trace it?"

"Yes sir," the tech answered. "It is registered to Marius Gaschot. His household reported a burglary break-in last week."

"It makes sense," Agent Evrard added, "It was probably stolen as a throw-away gun."

"May I get a closer look at that gun?" Roadblock asked, curious. He took the box from Agent Evrard and examined the gun closely without touching it. "Cover Girl come look at this."

Cover Girl stood next to Roadblock as he held the box open for her. After examining the pistol, her face became pale. "You have got to be kidding me," she whispered. She asked for permission to handle the gun, then she picked up the weapon and examined the chamber.

"What is it?" Agent Evrard asked with a confused expression.

Cover Girl illustratively held up the gun, saying, "Gentlemen, this is a clone of a Heckler & Koch VP70 semi-auto pistol. This sucker has been modified to be able to fire either conventional 9mm Lugers or class E pulse rounds: standard Cobra issue."

The room was silent.

Dr. Métier finally spoke, "Let's not jump to conclusions. If the gun is indeed stolen it could have been modified after the fact."

"There's two problems with that," Roadblock said. "One: why would the assassin go through the trouble of modifying the gun only to use conventional rounds, especially if he was going to toss it regardless."

"And two," Cover Girl added. "Cobra tech is extremely hard to come by nowadays, even on the black market. This gun had to have been modified _before_ it was stolen. We should bring in this Marius Gaschot for questioning."

"I'm afraid that's impossible mademoiselle," The tech said.

"Why is that?" asked an annoyed Agent Evrard.

The nervous tech replied, "When I looked into his registration records, he was designated as deceased."

 


	3. Mister Aloof

Outskirts of Paris – 1247 hrs

Roadblock sighed as he regarded the cramped confines of the vehicle from the passenger's seat. "What kind of car did you say this was again, Courtney?"

"It's a Peugeot."

"Well I'm glad you're driving. I never could get used to driving on the wrong side of the road the way they do here."

"You know the saying, Marvs: _When in Rome..."_

"According to the map you need to make a right at the next light... So, why didn't you get a real car?"

"This _is_ a real car: Peugeot makes race cars."

"It doesn't even have a horn."

"Yes it does, but they don't put them on the steering wheels, it's on a wand in the steering column. You push it in like this:"

_HONK! HONK!_

"Yuck, even their horns sound backwards."

"Next time I'll rent an American car." She rolled her eyes. "I just thought you'd want to expand your horizons a little."

"Yea, but with my palette, not my wheels.

"Here we are. This is the Gaschot residence at the end of the street."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

By the time Roadblock and Cover Girl arrived at the household of Marius Gaschot, it had already been over run by DGSE agents, scanning every section of the house with various detection devices. The Americans came upon Agent Evrard in the living room giving instructions to one of the technicians. When Evrard saw Roadblock and Cover Girl enter, he motioned them to come over.

"It is good to see _you_ again," said Evrard, regarding Cover Girl.

The overly friendly tone of the greeting gave Roadblock the impression that it was directed solely towards Cover Girl. When Evrard approached closer, he noticed how she tended to retract uncomfortably. He dismissed the subtle exchange with the understanding that Parisians and Americans have different views regarding the concept of personal space.

"Do you mind bringing us up to speed, Commander Evrard?" Roadblock said, in the hopes that the diversion would give Cover Girl some breathing room.

"But, of course. This is the home of Marius Gaschot, the registered owner of the pistol we found at the crime scene. He was CEO of TSX Telecom – one of the largest telecommunication companies in France. He died last month when he lost control of his vehicle and collided head on with a trolley. We have yet to find any evidence linking him to Cobra. We've already checked the entire property, save for the attic: If we don't find anything there, we'll pack it up.

In the next room, Dr. Métier could be heard arguing with a woman. Cover Girl went to investigate; they were yelling at each other in French, so she couldn't understand what they were saying.

"Is there a problem?" she asked Métier.

"No," Métier replied," This is the widow Gaschot. She is just saying how distraught she is over her husband's death, that's all." He left the room, checking his pager, to leave the woman sobbing quietly on a nearby sofa.

"That's not what she said," said Roadblock, suddenly appearing behind Cover Girl, giving her a start. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"That's okay; I just thought you were Evrard. So what _did_ she say?"

"Something about her husband having an affair."

"I didn't know you could speak French. But, I guess it makes sense given that you went to school here."

"I'd rather our French friends didn't know. I never fully trust spooks."

"Why don't you have a chat with the widow? I'll keep them out of your hair."

Cover Girl went back to the main room. Evrard and the other agents could be heard shuffling around upstairs. Métier was outside on the porch smoking a cigarette. She was headed for the staircase when a young agent came running downstairs, almost stumbling as he entered the room.

"Mademoiselle, you are wanted upstairs! We've found something!" the agent exclaimed.

Cover Girl grabbed Métier, and they followed the agent upstairs into the attic. They found Evrard standing at the edge of a hole in the attic floor.

Evrard glanced at them from over his shoulder. "I found this secret compartment when I removed some loose floorboards. I think what you find inside will be of interest."

Cover Girl and Métier stood on either side of Evrard and looked apprehensively into the hole. Their eyes widened in recognition of what they saw: a uniform hermetically sealed in plastic bearing the Cobra sigil. The uniform itself was the distinct color of crimson.

Cover Girl turned white. "Siegie..." 

"What does this mean?" said Métier, being almost too afraid to have asked.

"Crimson Guard – Cobra's elite troopers," Cover Girl replied. "Tell your men not to touch anything else; this place could be booby-trapped for all we know. I recommend an immediate evacuation until Hazmat and the bomb squad have a chance to sweep the attic."

"I agree," said Evrard.

Métier nodded. "Make it so."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

The agents proceeded to exit the house. Cover Girl stood by the car as she waited for Roadblock. He was the last to come out, the widow on his arm as he was consoling her. He led her to the car, sat her in the backseat, and joined Cover Girl at the front of the vehicle.

"So, I hear we've found ourselves a Siegie," he said.

"Uh huh, it just keeps getting better and better," she said, shaking her head. "Did you get anything out of her?"

"Yes, Métier needs to learn that you attract more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"He's probably under stress. Can you imagine trying to get this project off the ground only to have to deal with Cobra right out of the gate?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps."

"So, what did you find out?"

"They'd been married for a year and a half. Everything was going great until a week before he died. It all started when he got a phone call in the middle of the night, and ever since he started acting paranoid. His behavior was so erratic that she thought he was having an affair. When he died a week later, she believed that his death was not an accident. She hired a private investigator to look into the circumstances surrounding his death. After their second meeting, the PI disappeared. She believes that he has been killed as well."

"So, we're back to square one...."

"Not exactly. At their last meeting the private investigator found the number of the caller that started her husband's strange behavior. Unfortunately, according to the operator, that number does not exist."

She snorted. "Of course it doesn't, that would be too easy."

DGSE Headquarters – 1654 hrs

Endless paperwork.

_I'd rather be doing an engine flush on a '63 Chrysler 300..._

Cover Girl frowned at the stack of papers that flooded her inbox. She glanced at her watch:

_Already meeting time..._

She left her desk and found the conference room. Roadblock was already inside, waving an odd device around. She closed the door behind her.

"There you are," she said. "What're you doing in here?"

"Sweeping the room for bugs. One of their tech guys said they check the offices regularly, but with Cobra you can't be too sure."

"Find anything?"

The device flashed green with a beep. "Nope it's clean." And he took his seat in a nearby chair.

Cover Girl paced the room. "If I have to file another useless report today, I'll hang myself."

He grinned. "Please don't: I'd have to file paperwork for that.... You just need a good night's rest."

"I drank so much coffee today, I'm too wired to sleep."

"So, what's the story with you and Evrard?" He leaned back in his chair and clasped his fingers behind his head. "You two seem awfully friendly."

"He's easy on the eyes, but he comes on too strong." She poked a finger through one of the blades of the mini-blinds and peeked out of the window. "I'm trying to be nice because we have to work together."

"Just tell him you're not interested. He doesn't look the type to get bent out of shape over it."

"I just may have to do that," she finally plopped herself in the chair across the table.

Just then, Dr. Métier and Agent Evrard entered the conference room, along with a forensic technician who carried a box marked 'evidence'. He laid it on the table and left the room. Dr. Métier opened the box and placed the contents on the table: a Crimson Guard Uniform, a collection of passports, traveler's checks, encoded documents and computer disks.

Dr. Métier began, "This is what we've recovered from the residence so far. I want to know everything there is to know about Marius Gaschot. We can start with his position in Cobra. What does a Crimson Guardsman do exactly?"

"Simply put the Crimson Guard are sleeper agents," Roadblock said. "They're experts in clandestine warfare... Cobra's version of a spook."

 "Métier pursed his lips. "Why would a terrorist sleeper bother to register his gun?"

"You have to understand their SOP," Cover Girl replied. "Siegies insert themselves into the upper echelons of industry and government, playing the part to the hilt, until as such time as they are activated. They fight equally well on the battlefield as they do in the boardroom. Part of their training is to stay under the radar. When they are in cover they are model citizens: church deacons, troop leaders... they follow the laws of the land."

"I see your point, Cover Girl," Evrard said, "In France we have strict gun control laws here. Although there are loopholes in certain situations, ultimately it would have been less of a risk to register the gun than to risk getting caught with an unregistered military caliber firearm."

"Yes, but these firearms are illegally modified, isn't that a greater risk?" Métier questioned.

Roadblock shrugged. "These modifications are not noticeable to the casual observer. In fact, I doubt that anyone outside of GI Joe would've been able to spot one since we have more experience with Cobra."

Métier snorted. "So, what you're telling me is the fact that a Cobra gun was found at last night's crime scene could be a coincidence?"

Roadblock's brow furrowed. "It's certainly possible, but—"

"You said it yourself," Métier began. "If these Cobras are so good at subterfuge, it is certainly possible that a burglar could have broken into his house, not knowing who he was stealing from, nor what he was stealing... He fences his haul on the black market, including the gun, where our Algerian assassin buys it because it can't be traced back to him." He surveyed the room. As there were no objections to his reasoning, he continued, "Since there is no evidence linking these two events, we will conduct two separate investigations: Agent Evrard will continue to follow the Algerian lead, and you GI Joes will continue with the Cobra connection."

In that vein, Métier asked, "Commander Evrard, what is the status of the Algerians?"

"We have uncovered nothing so far," Evrard replied, "We increased surveillance of known Algerian spies, but there has been no chatter on the streets about the slayings. On top of that, we're starting to get pressure from the local authorities. We are soon going to be forced to release our findings to the Inspector General."

"Wait until the autopsy reports come back," said Métier, "be candid about the facts only, and make no mention of Cobra. That means you will make no mention of finding a murder weapon."

"Understood," Evrard replied.

Métier then regarded the Americans. "Roadblock and Cover Girl, is there anything you need for your investigation?"

"Well, for starters, I'd like to know what else is in that evidence box." Cover Girl said.

"There were parts from an AK-47," Evrard said, holding up the items. "But, the more interesting pieces are the documents and computer disks. They are encoded, so we are sending them to our encryption experts."

"We should put Mainframe on that," Roadblock said. "He has more experience cracking snake-speak."

"Thank you, but our men are more than qualified," Evrard said. "Any data that doesn't compromise national security will be freely shared with you."

"With your permission, we're going to need more access to you gun registration database," said Cover Girl. "Assuming other Siegies will follow the same MO, doing a query of all people who have registered that brand of pistol should give us a place to start."

Evrard nodded. "This is reasonable. I will give GI Joe read-only access to our databases." His gaze lingered on the woman. "If you need _any_ other information Cover Girl, I will be more than happy to provide it."

Roadblock noticed that Evrard's attentions had made Cover Girl shift uncomfortably in her chair. "That's nice of you, Evrard, I may just take you up on that."

Evrard arched an eyebrow.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

After the meeting, Roadblock and Cover Girl remained behind to talk privately.

Cover Girl folded her arms. "Do you believe that coincidence theory?"

"No, but maybe it's for the best," Roadblock said. He dialed the number on the telephone. "... less chefs stirring the pot."

The line rang. A familiar voice answered. _"Beach Head here."_

"Beach Head, this is Roadblock and Cover Girl. We have you on speaker phone. We need some tech support."

_"Go ahead."_

"We need a list of all registered owners of VP70's in France."

_"Siegies?"_

"Affirmative."

_"Roger that, but that's a common handgun. You're gonna want to narrow those search params."_

Cover Girl leaned in and put her hand on Roadblock's shoulder. "Marvs, what about the number you got from the widow?"

Roadblock smiled. "Beach Head cross-reference the result set with those that have received calls from this phone number in the past six months. Be advised that this number may no longer be in service."

Beach Head, after writing down the number responded, _"Okay, but, If it's Crimson Guard, then the number is probably spoofed. It won't do you any good to try to find the caller."_

"That's okay," Cover Girl replied. "It should be enough to find a commonality in the result set, which is what we're after anyway."

 _"I'll put Dial Tone on it then,"_ Beach Head said.  _"Where are you going to drop the raw data?"_

"Have him contact an Agent Evrard at this office; tell him it's for Cover Girl."

_"Understood... anything else?"_

"No. Thanks, Beach. We'll check in again tomorrow."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Back in his Hotel Room, Roadblock slumped out of the shower; it did little to soothe his aching muscles.

_Jet lag..._

He laid in bed and could immediately feel his eyelids become very heavy, when he was jarred awake by a knocking sound. He wearily extricated himself from the warm bosom of the bed's embrace to answer the door. It was Cover Girl.

She barged in. "Get dressed, we're going out." 

"Excuse me?" he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Evrard called again... he invited me out to dinner. You know, the one where you guys claim that it's to catch up on work, but it's really a date in disguise."

He smirked. "Oh, you mean that doesn't work with you ladies?"

"Hardly." She narrowed her eyes.

"What happened to telling him that you weren't interested?"

"I did, but he's the type that thinks 'no' means 'try harder'. It's time to nip this in the bud."

"So, what do you want me to do, rough him up a little?"

She laughed. "Of course not!" She then bit her lip. "Er, I was actually hoping you could tag along and pretend to be my boyfriend?" .

"Courtney, I'm tired."

"Aww, c'mon."

"I don't want to."

_"Please...."_

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You know what you're doing: biting the lower lip, the puppy-dog eyes.... It's not going to work."

"I-I don't know wh-what you're t-talking about," she said, sobbing.

"Now you're crying? That's a new low Courtney, even for you." He threw his hands up in surrender. "...alright...I'll do it."

"Thanks, Marvs." She turned to walk out – her sobbing replaced by restrained laughter. "Be ready in half an hour.... And for goodness sake, put on something sexy. I have a rep to protect."

 

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

At the appointed time, Roadblock arrived at Cover Girl's room next door, and he knocked.

"Okay, I'm ready," said Cover Girl, opening the door and joining him in the hallway. She was dressed in a deep ruby red leather jacket that hung down to her knees with black leather pumps that matched her purse.

He arched an eyebrow. "That's a nice jacket."

"Thanks, it's one of the perks left over from my modeling days. It's so old that it's back in style.... Darn it, my strap is loose again. Do you mind taking my jacket so I can fix it?"

"Sure."

When she turned her back to Roadblock, he removed her jacket and was greeted with the scent of her perfume, encouraging him to inhale deeply. He regarded how the soft lighting of the hallway picked up the highlights of her hair, giving it the color of caramelized cinnamon. The coat's removal bared her shoulders to reveal a black sequined evening dress that hung loosely halfway down her back, suspended by spaghetti straps. His eyes followed the contour of the silky fabric as it narrowed at her slender waist. It continued to fan out like an hourglass over her hips, clinging to her perfect form down the small of her back, and rounding out to the curve of her—

"Marvin?"

"Huh? What?"

"I said, you can give me my coat back."

"Oh, right.... Sorry." He helped her put it back on.

She gave him a sideways glance over her shoulder. "Hey... were you giving me the 'elevator stare' just now?"

"Er... well... you're supposed to be my girlfriend, right?" He changed the subject. "What are you doing packing this man-killer gown, anyway?"

"Are you kidding? This is Paris." She twirled, and the dress spun higher to reveal her bare legs. "Besides, what did you expect me to wear, my grease-stained mechanic overalls?"

Roadblock shrugged. "That _is_ your look: the last time I saw you on base you were hocking up lugees with the guys in the motor pool to see who could spit the farthest."

"That was on a dare," she recalled, laughing. "I won that you know... made it all the way to the Maulers."

Roadblock grimaced.

Cover Girl regarded him with a naughty smile. "This isn't going to be weird for you, is it?"

He smirked. "Naw, I'm master of my domain, girl."

She walked ahead of him. "Stop looking at my ass."

"Then stop walking like that."

"I apologize for having hips...."

"And the coat stays _on..._ we don't need all of Paris seeing your business."

"Geez, you're worse than my dad."

2nd arrondissement - 1927 hrs

Roadblock and Cover Girl arrived at Jacques Bistro without incident. Evrard had reserved a table. He smiled when he saw Cover Girl approach, but his expression changed to surprise when he saw that Roadblock was with her.

"Hello, Commander Evrard, I figured since we'll be discussing work, that I should bring Roadblock along with me. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," Evrard said graciously. "The more the merrier."

As Cover Girl looked over the menu, she placed her hand on top of  Roadblock's. "So, what're you in the mood for, sweetheart?"

Roadblock kissed her hand. "I don't know, puddin'... What do you recommend, Agent Evrard? And don't try any funny business, I know what 'es-kar-gat' means," he said, butchering the pronunciation.

"You should know better than I, you are a trained chef are you not?" Evrard said.

Now it was Roadblock who was surprised. He made a mental note never to underestimate Evrard again.

"So, you two are together, yes?" Evrard asked.

Cover Girl hugged Roadblocks arm. "He's my big strong Mandingo."

"And she's so cute it's a _sin;_  she's my girl: my vanilla _puddin'_."

"I see." Evrard rose from his chair. "Excuse me, I must wash my hands before we order."

When Evrard was out of earshot, Roadblock and Cover Girl started to laugh.

"You laid that on a little thick, didn't you?" he said.

"No, I think he took that well."

_"Mandingo?"_

She smiled. "Did you like that one? I was holding it in all day."

"It wasn't bad... just a _teensy_ bit racist..."

She gasped, and her eyes widened.

"Courtney, I'm messing with you..." He grinned. "Did you like the rhyme? I put that one together just for tonight."

She shrugged. "Nah, I wasn't digging it; it's not you're best work."

"Dang girl, you didn't have to be so quick with that retort. Have the decency to lie to me."

"Well, I'm sorry, but it didn't rhyme: 'sin' with 'pudding' doesn't work."

"Yes it does, you just have to play with it. It's called slant rhyme."

"Quiet, he's coming back."

When Evrard returned, they ordered their meals. Although the evening started awkwardly, the three of them had an enjoyable time. Once the pressure was off, Cover Girl and Evrard seemed to hit it off. Roadblock noticed that she didn't even cringe when Evrard placed his hand on hers as they laughed over a joke. After the appetizers were served, their waiter brought Roadblock and Cover Girl their soup then left. Immediately afterward, an attractive waitress brought Evrard a plate of shellfish.

Roadblock regarded her as she left, then he flagged down their waiter.

Roadblock spoke to the waiter in French, saying, "Tell Gilbert that Marvin says he's slipping... he had the waitress bring out my friend's shellfish before his soup." 

"I am sorry, sir," replied the waiter. "I had to go back for his soup. I have it here. But, I am confused as to who brought the shellfish; we have no waitress on the floor tonight."

Just as Evrard was about to take a bite of shellfish, Roadblock leaned over the table and grabbed his arm:

"Don't eat that!" 

Cover Girl flinched. "Marvs, what's gotten into you?" 

 _"Service a la russe,"_ Roadblock answered.

In understanding, Evrard discarded his shellfish.

Her brow furrowed. "I don't understand?" 

" _Service a la russe_ means that each course is served in a particular way and in a particular order," said Evrard, "I should have gotten the soup next as you did, not the shellfish."

"Sheesh, guys, overreact much?"

"The waiter also said, there are no women on the floor tonight," Roadblock persisted. "With things the way they are now for us, between Cobra and the Algerians..."

Cover Girl pursed her lips. "Poison?"

Roadblock regarded the waiter. "Check please."

"I will call the Action Team," said Evrard.

"No." Roadblock rose from the table. "This could be our only chance. You stay here in case she doubles back. Cover Girl and I will tail her."

Road Block and Cover Girl ran back to the kitchen. There was no sign of the waitress. Cover Girl heard Roadblock speaking to one of the chefs in French. The chef pointed to a door in the back. She followed him through the back door and out into the alley behind the restaurant. Staying in the shadows, they spotted the waitress across the street entering a building that was hosting some kind of gala event. 

"She had this well planned; she could easily lose anyone trying to follow her in that crowd," Roadblock said. "It looks like an exclusive event, so how do we get in?"

"It's a fashion show. I know how these things work; follow my lead."

When they approached, Cover Girl had Roadblock wait at the foot of the stairs where the red carpet began. Without explaining why, she had unbuttoned his shirt halfway, exposing his muscular chest. Roadblock watched her as she talked to the doorman, but he couldn't hear what was being said. He was suddenly distracted by a camera crew focused on a well dressed couple who had just walked by. He thought he recognized them as celebrities, but couldn't remember their names. Suddenly, he was blinded by camera flashes from a wave of paparazzi that descended upon him. Disorientated, his muscled tensed when Cover Girl took his arm. She began posing for the cameras.

She led him to the entrance. "Don't just stand there... smile and wave." 

He obeyed. "What's going on?"

He didn't get an answer. As she pushed him past the doorman and went inside, she turned to the crowd and blew them a farewell kiss.

"Yea, Champ!" the doorman cheered at them.

Roadblock pinched his brow. "Courtney, what did you do?" 

"Oh, that? Its nothing... I just told them that you were Marvin Maggler," she said meekly.

"The Heavy Weight Champion? Are you trying to say we all look alike?"

Her eyes widened. "No, it's just that you have the same first name... and you both have muscles...and you're both..."

"Courtney, I'm messing you."

She punched his arm.

The room was packed with celebrities and photographers who congregated around the runway, all waiting to give praise to their golden calf on an altar of fashion.

"Let's hurry up and get this done. I can't stand these things... frikkin' hypocrites," Cover Girl said over the din of the crowd.

"I see the target over by the bar."

The two of them split up, Cover Girl headed to the bar, and Roadblock circled around to the other side. Cover Girl ordered a drink and sat on the opposite end, watching her target as she tried to blend in. A couple of guys then tried to hit on Cover Girl, blocking her view in the process. She was able to get rid of them, but when she regained a clear line of sight, she saw that the waitress was looking in her direction. Their eyes met:

_Shit!_

The waitress left the bar and headed backstage. Cover Girl looked desperately into the crowd for Roadblock, but he was nowhere to be seen.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Cover Girl followed her and slipped backstage with the other models. The experience was surreal; a lifetime ago she was one of them: the money, the glamour, the adoration – it was as intoxicating as she remembered. She felt her stomach twist in knots, reminding her of why she left in the first place: because it was a world of surface without substance. She cursed herself for even daring to imagine herself back in front of the camera.

_I have a job to do..._

Her quarry eluded her; who ever it was she was following was good - too good. She needed camouflage to become a part of this fashion jungle. She found the nearest rack and dressed herself like the surrounding fauna. She grabbed a mirror and touched up her war-paint for the hunt. She evaluated her improvised look: it was hardly vogue-worthy, but all she needed was a degree of verisimilitude. She stalked her prey behind the curtain to no avail. She was about to retrace her steps when she saw a model in the fashion queue that caught her eye; the third model from the end with the purple wig. _She_ had to be the one:

_There was no way any self respecting designer would match that top with that skirt!_

Before Cover Girl could ambush her, _Purple-wig_ stepped onto the floor. Time was up; the hunt was over. She noticed a security team was approaching. She had to make a move now. She cut into the fashion queue and followed Purple-wig onto the stage. She was greeted with cheers and flashing lights as she strutted down the runway. She didn't know what angered her more: the exhilaration she felt from walking down the runway again, or the fact that her body remembered how to do it – she felt like a damned hypocrite! Purple-wig reached the end of the runway and turned around to go back. When she saw Cover Girl, she stopped in her tracks. The two women stared each other down face-to-face.

Cover Girl rushed her and was greeted with a kick to the stomach and a left hook to the chin. The crowd cheered thinking it was part of the show. Cover Girl spat on the ground, grateful that there were no teeth mixed in the pool of blood and spittle. She was also grateful for the punch: a much needed wake-up call.

She was so grateful that she thanked Purple-wig by digging the spike of her heel into her shin. She thanked her again by grabbing her hair and driving her knee into her face. And she thanked her one more time with an elbow to the jaw.

But, Purple-wig said _you're welcome_ with a spinning back kick to the chest.

Cover Girl got her guard up in time to make the block, but the force of the kick knocked her backwards giving Purple-wig time to exit the stage. Cover Girl was helped to her feet by two security guards who escorted her off the runway. On the way out, she spotted Roadblock. He had gotten cornered by Maggler fans and was stuck signing autographs. When he saw her being thrown out by the guards, he went to go help her, but she stopped him and pointed in the direction of Purple-wig. He saw Purple-wig slip out through the fire exit and followed her instead.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

In the alleyway behind the studio, Roadblock finally caught up with Purple-wig. She was talking to someone veiled in a large menacing shadow. When she saw Roadblock, she pointed at him before running off. A man stepped out of the shadows to face Roadblock, blocking the way to Purple-wig.

Roadblock cracked his knuckles. "I suggest you let me _pass_ , before I proceed to whup your _ass._ "

He was a whole head taller than Roadblock. Dressed in dark slacks and a double-breasted trench coat, he appeared unassuming in spite of his massive frame. His features were expressionless; his eyes were glazed, as if staring at some distant object.

 _This turkey that I'm getting ready to fight is even more_ aloof _than my man Low-Light._

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to ponder on the subject. Purple-wig was going to get away unless he got rid of _Mr. Aloof_ quickly.

Roadblock rushed him with a punch to the solar plexus – leaning extra heavy into it, and twisting his knuckles with the punch for good measure. To his surprise, the punch was completely ineffective. To make matters worse, the extra 'body english' he put into the punch made it hang on his target long enough for Mr. Aloof to catch it in a vice-like grip.

This guy was strong: the force of the grip tightened and Roadblock could feel the radius and ulna in his forearm being forced closer and closer together.

Resolved to break free before his bones snapped, Roadblock brought the point of his elbow down on the big man's wrist bringing all his weight to bear. Basic human physiology demanded that the larger muscles of his upper arm should overpower the smaller muscles of his opponent's wrist. The assumption proved correct; he was able to break free – barely.

Using the momentum put behind the wrist break, he continued to twist his body to deliver a spinning backfist with his newly freed hand. He grinned when, Mr. Aloof stumbled backwards. Before he could regain his balance, Roadblock charged him, grabbed his waist, and hoisted him over his shoulders to attempt a suplex. Roadblock was surprised at how heavy he was – deceptively heavy even for a man of that size. As a result, Roadblock took too long to raise him into position. Before he could shift his weight to compensate, Roadblock felt his legs buckle as a fist smashed into his back. Roadblock fell to the ground grabbing his lower back as Mr. Aloof stood over him. He mused that this must be one of those fighting situations that Beach Head would refer to as, 'less that ideal'.

Between the waves of pain, Roadblock heard the sound of a car engine getting louder and louder.

_HONK!HONK!_

When he heard the familiar car horn, he rolled backwards out of the way. The next thing he heard was the sound of 2000 pounds of French steel smash into Mr. Aloof with a force sufficient to send him flying several feet, like a rag doll, into a nearby dumpster. The impact sounded like the gong of a bell, and it left a dent into the corroded steel of the empty trash bin. The car pulled up next to Roadblock. The window rolled down.

"I told ya it's a race car," Cover Girl said with a smirk.

"Point taken." Roadblock straightened, flexing his sore back. "But, I still don't like the horn." And he walked around the front of the car to inspect the smashed grill. "You know the bean counters aren't going to like this."

"Don't worry; I paid the extra ten bucks for the damage waiver. Get in. I'll have Evrard send in the meat wagon for this guy while we go back after the girl."

Roadblock walked back around to the passenger side. He was about to open the door to get in when he noticed a strange reflection in the windshield. He turned, mouth agape, to regard the dumpster: it was flying through the air on a collision course with the car.

On pure instinct, Cover Girl put the car in reverse and hit the accelerator. The clutch screamed as it tried to engage the transmission. She managed to avoid the dumpster-projectile, but the car was still clipped at an odd angle sending it in a sideways skid.

Roadblock looked towards the projectile's point of origin, and there stood Mr. Aloof. Roadblock felt anger swelling up inside him; if that dumpster had connected as intended, it could have killed Cover Girl. He made his way to this new enemy – ready for round two.

Getting a sense of what Roadblock was going to do, Cover Girl leaned out of the window, sitting atop the door frame. She screamed at Roadblock from over the roof of the vehicle. "GET IN THE DAMN CAR!"

Roadblock met her glare – her eyes were not angry, they were pleading. That, and the pain in his back, made him heed the better part of valor. Roadblock climbed in as Cover Girl furiously tried to get the car in gear to no avail.

"What's wrong?" he said.

"I must have stripped the clutch; it's stuck in reverse. Hang on!" She hit the accelerator, causing the engine to roar as they headed backwards down the alley.

"He's still coming."

"I know."

"Where are we going?"

"Where does it look like?"

"Don't tell me you're going to drive through the highway in reverse?"

"Sure, I won't _tell_ you that. But, you might want to buckle up anyway."

"That doesn't inspire confidence!"

"Don't worry, I've driven through worse."

"It doesn't count if it was in a ten ton Wolverine!"

They reached the end of the alley and peeled out onto the thoroughfare with Mr. Aloof after them on foot. Driving through the obstacle course of traffic backwards slowed them down just enough to allow their pursuer to keep pace.

"I left my gun in the trunk," said Roadblock.

"Here, take mine." Keeping her eyes on the road through the rear window, Cover Girl tossed her M1911A1 .45 caliber gun in Roadblock's lap.

"Wait a minute, girl... where did you conceal this hand-cannon in that dress?" He chambered the weapon.

"That's _not_ information you're privy to on a first date, soldier!"

Roadblock leaned out the side of the window and unloaded the pistol:

_BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!_

"I'm out!"

"There's another magazine in my purse, any luck?"

"I hit him dead center with two rounds. It didn't even slow him down. He's wearing high grade body armor."

"Wait a minute, only two? There's seven rounds in that magazine, try aiming next time!"

"I would if you weren't driving like Shipwreck on acid."

She clenched her jaw. "The next time we're being chased by a homicidal dumpster-tossing mutant, you drive."

Roadblock reloaded, leaned out of the window, this time sitting on the door frame, and he fired:

_BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!_

He stopped when Cover Girl swerved violently to avoid rear ending a nearby sedan that moved into her lane. The force threw Road Block out of the window, but he managed to avoid getting smeared on the street by hooking his arm around the side view mirror. He started to climb back in as Cover Girl came dangerously close to a line of parked cars along the curb. Road Block managed to get one leg back inside when a door from one of the parked cars swing open in his path.

"Uh, Courtney... door... gonna die!"

"I'm busy!"

He didn't have time to get his other leg back inside so he braced himself against the frame and kicked the oncoming open door as hard as he could. The force of his kick, added with the speed of the car, was sufficient to knock the door off of its hinges. The owner of the car screamed.

Roadblock caught the dislodged door in mid-air for fear that it would hit any nearby pedestrians. He didn't have nearly as much altruistic concern for Mr. Aloof, however. With all of his strength he threw the door at him like a make-shift Frisbee – and it struck home. Mr. Aloof absorbed the force of the projectile, but physics demanded that he be knocked off his feet and sent skidding across the pavement to the other side of the street. Relieved, Roadblock climbed back into the car as Cover Girl regained control of the vehicle. He found her yelling at the top of her lungs at the driver of the sedan that cut her off.

"It's called a blinker, moron! Use it! ... Marvs, how do you say 'moron' in French?"

Roadblock snorted. "Courtney, we're out of any immediate danger, but we have to get off this street. There's too many civvies."

"I agree." She sighed heavily.

"Are you okay? You look down."

"No, I was just thinking how sad it was that this is the best date I've had in months."


	4. Champ

DGSE Headquarters – 0445 hrs

The metal detector screeched. Roadblock set the small bag of groceries onto the conveyor and walked through the portal again. The guard peeked through the bag and handed it back to the American before buzzing him in.

The door's close echoed in the darkened hallway, but it soon abated in deference to the shuffle of the soldier's weary footfalls. Roadblock glanced at his watch. _Still the graveyard shift._ And he yawned, wincing as he stretched his back.

_Dammit!_

Roadblock arrived in the cafeteria, and he stilled as the facilities were on par with the equipment back home. He grabbed an apple from the self-serve area and took notice of the Conti z500 espresso machine.

_These aren't even supposed to be on the market until next spring._

The few stragglers left over from the graveyard shift shuffled their morning papers as he passed, giving the big man a passing glance-over. He nodded to each of them, surprising the agents when he greeted them in French, when he saw Cover Girl. She was easy to spot since she was the only other person in the room that wore a U.S. standard issue Army uniform.

He approached her, yawning; this time his hand braced his lower back.

Cover Girl sat alone in the corner engrossed in a stack of papers. A trail of steam rose from the fresh cup of coffee placed on the table's edge. Her head was nestled gingerly in her palm, hidden behind her lush auburn hair as it draped down to her sleeve.

She perceived his presence. "Good morning, Marvs."

Roadblock managed to grunt out a gravelly "Good morning, Courtney."

She smiled.

The stiffness in his back had put him in a bad mood, and he was already resigned to wallow in his self-righteous grumpiness. Instead, he found himself cheerfully returning her smile against his will. _How did she do that?_

"Gee, you look like crap... rough night?"

He set his bag down and sat in the chair across from her. "Yeah, I had an impromptu date."

She gave him a wry look. "Oh? How did it go?"

"Well, after she got me beat up, she tried to throw me out of a moving car."

"She sounds like a handful – assuming you're not into that." She stifled a snicker.

He frowned.

"Here, drink this, Mr. Grumpy," she said, handing him her coffee.

He arched an eyebrow after taking a sip. "Damn, this is some good coffee." He took another sip. "I reiterate: damn."

"I know! The scuttlebutt is that Métier imports this custom blend directly from Brazil. No one knows what's in it, and he won't tell."

"Brazil, you say?" He took a larger sip and swished the beverage around his tongue several times. "I detect a Typica and Bourbon blend. However, those beans have a high natural acidity that's not present here... he must balance it out with a milder Colombian hybrid."

"That's amazing Marvs!" She punched his arm playfully. "Do you think you can figure it out? I could probably use that info as currency around here."

He emptied the cup. "I'll have to drink some more to be sure." And he rose from his seat.

"Great, while you're up would you be a dear, and bring me back another cup also...? Don't look at me like that; you just drank all of mine!"

Roadblock went back to the self-serve area and returned with more coffee. He placed a fresh cup next to Cover Girl and happened to look over her shoulder to see what she was reading.

"Getting an early start?" he asked.

"Mmhmm. This is the result set from the query that we submitted to Dial Tone." She handed him the list."

Roadblock glanced over the names. "Are Métier and Evrard aware of this?"

"I put copies in their boxes. Although this isn't a comprehensive list: it only involves the metropolitan areas. Most of the outlying districts aren't computerized yet, so we have to wait for the hard copies."

"It's still an encouraging start." He traded the page for the stapled report. "What's this?"

"Dial Tone was very thorough. He included bios of everyone on the list. So far everyone fits the profile: all well-to-do citizens, pillars of the community, no criminal records. They fit the MO, though it proves nothing."

"Look at it this way, it doesn't _disprove_ anything either." He took his seat.

"You're right... Oh, by the way, this envelope came in with the report. It was marked for your eyes only, so I figured it would be safer if I held onto it before you got in."

"Thanks." Roadblock took the proferred envelope. He broke the seal and retrieved the contents inside, saying, "I asked Mainframe to dig up some additional dirt on Evrard and Métier... the stuff they don't tell you in the official reports..." He pursed his lips.

"What is it?"

"Evrard's service record... It's a boring read, but nothing short of exemplary. I thought Beach Head was by-the-book, but he's got nothing on this guy. It's technically flawless."

"What about Métier?"

"Métier's is more colorful. He majored in sociology and international politics, graduating top of his class and did his dissertation on the dynamics of terrorism. He's brilliant, but was considered sort of a rebel for his unorthodox views. Apparently, he's been transferred to five different government agencies in as many years. I guess he doesn't like to stay in one place for very long."

"Either that or he has trouble getting along with the status quo. I seem to remember him mentioning having contact with GI Joe before? What does it say about that?"

"I'm just getting to that part... Here it is... The Worldwide Defense Initiative: security was headed by Stalker, Lady-Jaye, Gung-Ho, and Spirit... this was GI Joe's first recorded encounter with Zartan. He kidnapped Dr. Métier and assumed his identity to gain entry in an attempt to sabotage the conference."

"Métier failed to mention that little tidbit of information. It's interesting that both times he tried to get this project off the ground, there's been Cobra involvement. Talk about lighting striking twice in the same place."

"Not to mention he's been compromised before." Roadblock grinned. "Do you want to entertain another coincidence theory?"

"No way. So, what are we going to tell theses guys about what we saw last night? We have a meeting at the beginning of our shift."

"I've been meaning to ask _you_ because I'm not sure myself. It's either the Algerians, Cobra or some other player."

"My money is on Cobra."

"Maybe, but I just wish we had more to go on than just our gut. Did you get a good enough look at the girl we tailed for a description?"

"No, between the fighting, the noise, and the flashing lights it was all a blur. What about you? You had to have gotten a good look at her when she brought us our food?"

Roadblock blushed. "I... wasn't exactly checking out her face."

Cover Girl punched him in the arm again.

"Next time put out." He rubbed his arm. "Ow... you hit the exact same spot."

"But, you're so big."

"You got those bony little knuckles... they penetrate."

She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, what about that big Frankenstein wanna-bee in the trench coat? I figure that must've been a B.A.T."

"A _B_ attle _A_ ndroid _T_ rooper?" He shook his head. "No, it wasn't."

"How can you be so sure? I've seen a B.A.T. throw an AWE-Striker, I've seen them dust themselves off after falling off of skyscrapers, and I've even seen them push through a dozen rounds from an M60."

"You forget I fought this guy up close. He was wearing body armor like a man. He was breathing like a man. And he stank like a man."

"But no _man_ could do the things he did. Even Serpentor wasn't that strong."

"No, not Serpentor. But, the last time I fought something like that it had wings - bat wings."

Cover Girl slumped in her chair as all the air escaped her lungs. "Oh, no... You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

"Come to think of it, _he_ didn't have much of a vocabulary either..."

"Please don't tell me those guys are involved. I thought we wiped them out."

Roadblock shrugged. "I don't know. This guy didn't have the wings, but he was just as strong and twice as mean."

"This is all giving me a headache." Cover Girl put her coffee down and massaged her temples. "So, what do we say?"

"We really can't _say_ anything: information regarding Cobra-La is at least ten levels above top-secret. "

"You're right, but I can't help feeling like a bit of a hypocrite."

"Secrets are all part of the game."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

After breakfast, Roadblock and Cover Girl headed upstairs for their morning debriefing.

"By the way," RoadBlock said, "how did you get here so early?"

"Er... Evrard gave me a ride," she said meekly.

He regarded her, nonplussed. "What?"

"He knew our car was totaled, and he was so sweet to have offered... I couldn't say no."

"You couldn't have given a brother a call? Maybe _I_ wanted a ride too."

"Well, I felt bad about everything you went through last night, and I figured you would want to sleep in, so I didn't wake you."

"Well you _should_ feel bad. You know when this gets back home, that I impersonated the heavy weight champ in order to crash fashion show, the other Joes are going rub my face in it."

"Maybe, Marvs, but you're _way_ prettier than he is. Besides, you have nothing to worry about. That fashion show was small potatoes. What loser would've been up last night watching that?"

Relieved, Roadblock nodded in agreement. They exited the elevator and checked in with the floor guard. Roadblock held the door to the office open for her. Once inside they found the morning shift busy at work. When they were spotted, however, everyone stopped what they were doing. It was completely quiet in the office; you could hear a pin drop.

Roadblock put his face in his palm. _Oh, no..._

Everyone in the office cheered in unison:

"CHAMP! CHAMP! CHAMP! CHAMP! CHAMP!"

Cover Girl stifled a snicker. "Remember: smile and wave." And she left with brisk footfalls.

Alone, Roadblock walked through the crowd of agents as they teased him at his expense. However, he took it all in good stride.

He entered the conference room to find Métier, Evrard, and Cover Girl waiting. Cover Girl was careful not to show any expression of humor in her face. Evrard was sitting quietly next to Métier, who was reading a section of the newspaper that showcased a picture of Roadblock and Cover Girl from the fashion show last night.

Métier put the paper away as Roadblock took a seat at the table. "It has come to my attention that we had a break in the case last night," Métier said.

"Yes," Evrard said. "We identified a suspect, but she got away before we could apprehend her. She had help, of course."

"I see," Métier said. "Why didn't you call in the Action Team for support?"

"There was no time; the suspect was already in flight," Roadblock said. "Besides, we didn't want to attract any undue attention to ourselves..." Roadblock put his face in his palm, and he cursed inwardly at the sheer stupidity of his last statement.

Métier, appeared oblivious to the irony. "So, this is how you normally tail suspects in America?"

RoadBlock looked to CoverGirl for an answer.

She blinked. "No—Er— _Yes?_ "

"Yes," Roadblock parroted.

"Yes," they both answered in unison.

Roadblock added, "It's... an experimental GI Joe special surveillance tactics method."

Cover Girl snorted.

"Fine." Métier raised a quieting hand at Roadblock, signaling him to stop while he was ahead, "That's all we need to say about that then. First things first: what do we know about the suspect?"

"We had the shellfish analyzed," Evrard began. "It was tainted with a very aggressive derivative of _saxitoxin_. Certainly fatal, there probably would have been no foul play suspected because it so closely resembles the toxins associated with the relatively mundane Paralytic Shellfish Poisoning."

Métier drummed his fingers on the table top. "So, it would appear that whoever is killing off all these Cobra agents tried to kill the three of you last night."

Cover Girl straightened. "Wait a minute... let's rewind that. You said Cobra agents in the plural. What's going on here?"

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle, we just found out ourselves," Evrard said. "We did some checking on the names in that list of possible Cobra spies you gave us. We found that out of the thirty-six possible suspects, fifteen of them have died over the course of the past eight months. Their deaths at the time were all non-suspicious; having ranged from car accidents to apparent suicides."

"That's almost half, all with the same M.O. as Gaschot," Roadblock said. "That can't be a coincidence."

"Agreed," Métier replied. "I am forced to acknowledge that there is a link between the Algerians and Cobra."

"The prevailing theory is that there is some sort of war between the two factions," Evrard added.

Cover Girl's eyes narrowed. "But, why are they carrying it out in such a clandestine fashion? That's not the usual M.O. – for either of them. Have there been any 'accidental' deaths on the Algerian side?"

"No. And aside from the execution the other day. All known Algerian cells and suspects have been relatively inactive," Evrard said.

"So, either Cobra's elite are getting their butts kicked by these loosely-organized fundamentalist upstarts, or there indeed _is_ another player at the table," Roadblock mused.

Métier arched an eyebrow. _"Another player?_ Is there something that you haven't told us?"

Roadblock and Cover Girl shared a look.

She blinked. " _No?_ "

"No," Roadblock parroted.

"No," they both answered in unison.

"In that case let's continue," Métier said. "Without more to go on, let's redouble our efforts on the Cobra connection. The best lead we have so far is the information we got from the widow Gaschot. I want to re-interview her immediately."

"Why are we wasting our time with dead suspects?" Cover Girl said. "Why don't we track down the remaining suspects on the list and round them up?"

"As you know, mademoiselle, in keeping with the Crimson Guard M.O., it is implied that the suspects are all men of power and influence. We cannot simply 'round them up' without due process – the legal ramifications could jeopardize the entire project. I know the concept may be foreign to you Americans, but we are still a country of laws," Métier said.

Roadblock regarded Cover Girl – ready to intervene in case she decided to rebuke Métier's sarcasm. He was relieved that she bit her tongue, although he was sure it was not without considerable effort on her part.

"Dr. Métier, surely there would be no harm in _asking_ the remaining suspects a few questions?" Evrard said.

"I don't think that would be prudent," Métier replied. "We don't want to potentially alert Cobra that we've uncovered their spy network. Like any other, this situation calls for patient intelligence gathering. As such, we will keep the suspects under surveillance. In the meantime, Roadblock, I would like you to accompany me since you have a rapport with the widow Gaschot. Evrard, I would like you and Cover Girl to find the whereabouts of the private detective she hired."

"His name is Guillaume Adjani. We haven't been able to account for his whereabouts since his last meeting with the widow," Cover Girl said. "I suggest we start at his office for leads."

"This is reasonable," Evrard said.

Métier nodded. "Make it so."

The meeting was adjourned.

14th arrondissement – 0913 hrs

I was a long drive to the widow Gaschot's home located in the outskirts of Paris. Much to Roadblock's chagrin, Métier felt obligated to fill the silence with idle banter.

"So, how long have you been with GI Joe?"

"Since the beginning."

"Is Gung Ho still with your unit?"

"Yes, he is, why?"

"I am very fond of his gumbo."

Roadblock snorted. "You've tried Gung Ho's gumbo?"

"Oui, a long time ago, but I never got the recipe."

"I'll pass along the request the next time I see him."

At every opportunity, Roadblock elected not to initiate conversation, being averse to small talk. To his relief, the car phone rang and Métier picked it up. After a brief conversation, he hung up and turned the car back toward town.

"Is something wrong?" Roadblock asked.

"There has been a new development. We are on our way to another crime scene."

6th arrondissement – 0919 hrs

Cover Girl and Agent Evrard arrived at the office building of Guillaume Adjani – the private investigator hired by the widow Gaschot. After getting approval from building management, they were led to the appropriate floor by the manager. The entire floor was in the middle of repairs due to extensive fire damage. The further into the building they got, the worse the damage was.

Cover Girl stopped when at the obvious epicenter of the blaze. "Let me guess: this is the office space that Adjani was leasing."

"Oui, mademoiselle," said the manager. "It is also the believed to be the origin of the fire. The repairs are on hiatus pending an investigation by the insurance company."

"So, arson is suspected..." Evrard rubbed his chin. "Was anyone hurt in the fire?"

"No, but we have yet to hear from Monsieur Adjani; his rent is overdue."

Cover Girl entered the space; everything was burned to a crisp. "So, what are the odds that Adjani turns up missing right before his office catches fire?"

Evrard nodded. "Obviously, someone was trying to cover their tracks."

Cover Girl carefully walked around a charred desk chair – almost slipping on the surrounding soot that caked the floor. "We've hit another dead end."

"Actually, this is most encouraging," Evrard said. "Being a retired police Inspector, Adjani was very good at what he did. If someone went through such lengths to cover their tracks, it suggests that he found something that someone didn't want him to find."

"I'll buy that," Cover Girl said. She opened a nearby file cabinet, the papers inside were reduced to ash. "Regardless, the trail here has _gone_ _up in smoke,_ so to speak." She wiped the dirt from her hands on her dress, and she left the space.

"Monsieur, where do you keep the mail for Mr. Adjani?" Evrard asked of the manager.

They were directed to the mail room and were granted access to Adjani's post office box. Evrard quickly thumbed through the stack of letters.

"What are you looking for, Evrard?" Cover Girl asked.

"A man of Adjani's talent does not come cheap: there are expenses to be paid - expenses that can be tracked... Viola! His credit card statements." Evrard triumphantly handed her the envelopes.

Cover Girl snorted. "Gee, it's a good thing they didn't burn down the entire building."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Cover Girl and Evrard left the office building with a renewed confidence. As they drove back to DGSE headquarters, she looked through the letters; it was a futile effort since she couldn't understand French. She was resolved not to let these letters out of her sight until she could get back with Road Block, since he was the only person that she fully trusted. She looked up from her papers after the car jolted as they came over a hill.

She glanced at the tachometer. "You're going it a little fast, aren't you, Evrard?"

"I think we have a problem; the brakes aren't working," he said, stomping hard on the brake pedal to no avail.

"Did you try the parking brake?"

"Yes, no effect. I can cut the engine and we can coast down."

"If you cut the engine, you'll lose steering... There's an intersection coming up, blare the horn!"

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEEEEEEEP!_

The warning came in time. The oncoming cars yielded, allowing Evrard to blow through the intersection safely.

"Airbags... what if I steer the car into a building and try to scrape it along its side?" he said.

"Are you kidding? This car is made out of tin foil; at this speed we wouldn't survive. You need to snake turn to slow us down... Watch out for that trolley!"

"I see him, hang on!"

Evrard cut the wheel hard to the left. They avoided the trolley, but banking at that speed caused the car to lean heavy on its right side. The car's inertia lifted the entire left side off of the ground. For one terrible moment it was engaged in a deadly balancing act. Thankfully, gravity brought the car back down on all 4 tires; however, Evrard had to hit the gas to supply enough power to the tires in order to re-align the car. This caused them to descend even faster down the hill.

"That was too close!"

Evrard's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. "There's too many obstacles in the road for a snake turn. If I turn too sharply we'll barrel roll."

She unholstered her pistol. "I can shoot out the tires. The friction from the undercarriage should do the trick."

"Good idea. Shoot them _all_ out now!"

"No, you're going to need the front two to steer. I'm only going to shoot the back tires."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Do it."

"Shit! I just thought of a problem: as soon as I shoot one tire out, we're going to fishtail. We need to shoot them at the same time so we don't flip over. You're going to have to help me."

"I'm otherwise engaged, mademoiselle!"

"I can't do it by myself; my arms are only _so_ long!"

"This car is 'tin foil' right? Shoot them from inside the cabin!"

She smiled. "Okay, give me your gun."

He tossed her his pistol. "Hurry!"

"Shut up!"

Cover Girl leaned precariously over her backrest to face the rear of the car. With a gun in each hand, she angled each arm in alignment with her best guess as to where each tire should be with respect to the interior of the cabin. She steadied herself and cleared her mind of all external distractions – focusing only on herself and the two rear tires as the vertices of a deadly triangle:

_BLAM-BLAM!_

The car shuddered then dropped, leaving a shower of sparks in its wake as the car's undercarriage scraped along the roadway. They were going noticeably slower by the time they reached the bottom of the hill. But, not slow enough.

"Cover Girl, I just lost steering, and we're about to smash head on into the side of that building!"

She curled her lip. "Hold on!" And shot out the front passenger tire. As she hoped, the car teetered on its remaining tire and slowly started to veer toward the passenger side away from the perpendicular, so instead of slamming into the wall head on, they ricocheted off like a billiard. The impact sent them in a violent spin that snapped off the remaining tire from the axle. Fortunately, this caused more friction as the entire undercarriage was now in contact with the street. The car, amid a torrent of sparks and fiberglass fragments, finally came to a stop in the middle of the intersection. Evrard and Cover Girl climbed out, shaken, but alive.

Evrard regarded her. "Clever girl... Are you okay?"

"Yea. And you?"

"If you'll excuse me; I'll be over there puking my guts out."

"Sure, have fun with that."

19th arrondissement – 1008 hrs.

Roadblock and Métier arrived at the crime scene. In usual fashion, DGSE forensics agents were busy at work, circumventing the local municipal authorities. The senior technician on site greeted Dr. Métier as they parked.

"What have you found?" Métier asked.

"The authorities pulled the body out of the canal early this morning. He was killed with a single gunshot wound to the head – possibly by a 9mm caliber. Time of death has not been determined yet. A red flag came through our department when he was identified as an Algerian national. We have confirmed his identity as a suspect on our terrorist watch-list." He handed Métier the report.

Métier read the victim's file. "He is a cell leader – the same cell leader that was supposed to meet with the students the other night. What are your thoughts, Roadblock?"

"I'm left wondering if this is retaliation, someone finishing up on the hit job at the inn, or if the Algerians are being false-flagged."

"All feasible explanations..."

"But. it raises a bigger question: what's the motivation? Especially if we're talking about Cobra?"

"Maybe it wasn't Cobra. Like you said there could be another player."

"But, how do we know either way? It seems like we're going in circles."

"In such things Roadblock, it is my experience that you hardly ever _know_ anything. All we can do is follow the evidence. Right now it still points to Cobra."

DGSE Headquarters – 1300 hrs

By early afternoon, it has already been a long day for Cover Girl. She gingerly sat in the chair at her desk. As her conjoined desk mate, her arrival did not escape Roadblock's notice. He hung up the phone, the look of concern on his face was genuine.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine; just another day at the office."

"That's not what I heard. What happened?"

"Someone cut the brake lines on Evrard's car. I examined them, myself: they were frayed to make it look like normal wear-and-tear."

"This is the second time someone has tried to kill us in as many days."

"Maybe now's time for us to go on the offensive." She fished her jacket's pocket and handed Roadblock Adjani's mail.

He glanced over the envelopes. "What's this?"

"Adjani's corporate credit card statements. If we want to find out where he's been..."

"We gotta follow the money." He grinned. "Let's get to it."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Hours pass as Roadblock and Cover Girl worked to reconstruct Adjani's investigation. The dozens of phone calls and faxes made between them made it apparent that the biggest challenge proved to be overcoming the endless red tape in dealing with bureaucrats. At the end of the second shift, they retired to the cafeteria for an evening repast.

Roadblock came from the kitchen carrying a plate in each hand. He set a dish in from of Cover Girl and took a seat for himself.

She took a bite. "Mmm, this is good. What is it?"

 _"Pansette de Gerzat,"_ Roadblock replied. "Lamb."

"I have eaten better in the last three days than I have in the past three years. How do you do it and not get fat?"

"It's all about portion control..." He refilled their wine glasses.

"I could get used to this." She raised her glass in toast. "So, shall we compare notes before this kicks in?"

He snorted. "Well, we know that before his disappearance, Adjani visited a motel about fifty miles outside of town on the way to Orleans. Around the same time he requested an electricians report on a plot of land not far from the motel..."

"Right. According to the utility company, the owners were required to bring the wiring up to spec before they could be added to the grid. Unfortunately, they only referenced them by an account number; I couldn't find a name."

"It's owned by a private company set up by a SARL," Roadblock said.

"What's a SARL?"

"The French equivalent of an LLC... The regulatory agent I spoke to said that the land has been sold and resold over the years. Apparently, it was built on top of an ancient cistern fed by a natural spring, and a lot of companies have tried to extract the water to sell it."

"Selling water?"

"Natural bottled water... it's a big fad nowadays."

Cover Girl snorted.

"Anyway, extracting the water has proven to be cost prohibitive, so all the previous owners have gone out of business, and it looks like this latest owner is no exception. The paperwork on it hasn't moved for years."

She frowned. "Man, talk about a cold lead."

"If it's so cold, why would Adjani take the time to go there?" Roadblock persisted. "I think that should be our next play."

Cover Girl swirled the remaining wine in her glass. "You're right, but let's wait till morning. I'm not too eager to get behind the wheel just yet."

He grinned knowingly. "That reminds me... will we have a car by tomorrow?"

"Yes, they're going to drop it off at the hotel." She emptied her glass. "I hope you don't mind me putting it under your name: I don't think the rental agency is too fond of me, seeing as how I totaled their last two cars."

Motel d'Leon – 1000 hrs

The next morning Roadblock and Cover Girl set off on their fact-finding road-trip. They settled in a small rural town just off of Autoroute A71 roughly halfway between Paris and Orleans. They settled into the Motel d'Leon – a small privately owned inn headed by an elderly man who seemed very friendly. The old man remembered Adjani and arranged for them to stay in the same room. Once inside they looked for clues but found nothing in the way of new leads.

Cover Girl started fixing her hair in the mirror. "The innkeeper was very chatty with you."

"I guess he doesn't get many patrons..." He bent over and looked under the bed. "That would explain how he was able to remember that Adjani checked in here."

"Well, if Adjani _was_ here, he didn't leave anything behind."

"That's not too surprising." He sat on the bed. "I guess we should head over to the private land plot." And he retrieved a road map from his pocket, unfolding it in his lap.

"How far is it?"

"Just a few miles off road: well within walking distance."

She regarded him in the mirror with a raised brow. "We're not driving? Why?"

"For one thing the map doesn't show any access roads. Moreover, the old man mentioned in passing that Adjani went out on foot after he checked in. If we're going to do this right, we might as well follow in his footsteps exactly."

She frowned. "That old man sure is a nosy little busybody."

"It's not like there's anything else to do around here."

She retired to the bathroom. "I'll be ready after I change into my civvies."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

When Roadblock and Cover Girl arrived at the private land plot, they were surprised to see the primitive state of the land in terms of development. Roadblock double checked the map to make sure they were in the right place.

"Of all the godforsaken – there's nothing here!" Cover Girl kicked over a nearby rock in frustration.

"It _has_ been a long time, Courtney. Maybe they pulled out and cut their losses."

"I would hate to have driven all the way here and have nothing to show for it."

"We might as well give the area a quick sweep." Roadblock shielded his brow from the sun as he surveyed the land. His eyes eventually settled upon a small collapsed building in the distance.

Cover Girl grudgingly followed him to the dilapidated structure. Under a pile of debris near one of the remaining stable walls, they found a service hatch that led underground. Roadblock opened the hatch, squatted next to the opening and peered inside.

"You're not thinking about climbing in there are you?" With trepidation she leaned over Roadblock's shoulder, but it was too dark to see anything.

He grinned, producing a couple of flashlights from their provisions. "You're the one that didn't want this to be a blank trip."

They descended down the hatch via the built in ladder. At the bottom of the shaft, they got on a catwalk that led to an open passage. The passage looked like it was part of larger circular corridor: it stretched on either side for as far as they could see and broke off into a network of smaller hallways.

"This is Tunnel Rat's gig," she said, with a scowl. Over the edge of a railing, she noticed a rusty generator that had fallen into disrepair. Every where she shone the light on the contraption she caught a glimpse of rodents and other vermin as they scurried back into the darkness. "Ew, it looks like we're not the only ones down here. And, look at all this junk... it has to be about fifty years old."

"Old equipment, but new wiring..." Roadblock illustratively flashed his light on a nearby wall where some electrical conduits were bolted. He ran his hand along the length of the conduit. "Do you still have that wiring map from the electrician's report?"

"Yes." She produced the report and unfolded the paper, holding it up to the light. "It certainly looks larger in here than it does on paper."

"It's my guess that we're here," Roadblock said, pointing at a spot on the paper. "It doesn't look like there's anything interesting along the perimeter. I think we should go into one of these access corridors and criss-cross the area a few times... if we don't find anything, we'll call it quits."

"Fine by me," she said. "I don't mind the darkness, but this humidity is going to give me a bad hair day."

"We _are_ sitting on top of a cistern. It's probably fed by an underground river."

They followed the circular path and turned into one of the access corridors. Cover Girl took out a handkerchief and covered her nose to relieve the stench of mildew and vermin. The hallway echoed with a crunching sound as they walked over the algae-encrusted floor.

"They got it wired and plugged into the grid, so where's the light switch?" Roadblock said.

"Maybe they haven't paid their electric bill."

"Hey, did we make a right and then a left back there? I'm a little disorientated."

"I think it was a left at the barrels of toxic waste, and a right at the rat droppings," she said as she hopped over particularly large puddle. "I just _had_ to wear my favorite boots today..."

"Sorry. Let's just keep going straight. We're bound to hit the perimeter sooner or later."

Cover Girl snorted. "This labyrinth is certainly a perfect metaphor for our mission isn't it?"

"How do you mean?"

"They're both full of twists and turns that lead nowhere."

"I like to think we've made some progress, although I don't know what we're going to do if this trip doesn't pan out." He stilled when he saw daylight coming out from under a door at the end of the corridor. "Do you think that door leads back outside?"

"Only one way to find out... To tell you the truth I'm tired of following all these dead ends – I'm starting to feel like the donkey led by a carrot stick. You know this mission is going to go nowhere if we can't even prove that Cobra still exists."

Roadblock opened the rusty door that led to a large room filled with electronics. He almost dropped his flashlight as he regarded a troop of Crimson Guard soldiers monitoring the equipment. For the first time in nearly two years GI Joe and Cobra faced each other. The room fell silent as both parties looked at each other with apprehension – neither one knowing what to expect from the other.

Roadblock cleared his throat. "Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?"

One of the guardsmen started to reach for the jar on his workstation, when his teammate deftly slapped the back of his helmet.

Roadblock used the distraction to close the door. He leveraged his arm to barricade the handle, and he held it fast as the cobras attempted to pull the door open from the other side. He shared a look with Cover Girl:

"Run!"

"Not without you!"

"One of us has to make it out of here to warn the others!"

She knew he was right, but that didn't make abandoning him any less painful. She ran back the way they came, making it halfway down the passage, when the hallway lit up, and the alarm rang. As she came upon an intersection, she saw the elongated shadows of three guardsmen coming up from around the corner. She broke into a full run and jumped into the air. Her timing was perfect: the first guard that rounded the corner met the full force of her flying kick. He slammed hard against the opposite wall and did not move.

She landed on her feet as the second guard assailed her. She drove the spike of her heel into the pit of his stomach. It had enough penetration to knock the wind out of him, and he doubled over. She finished him off with an axe kick to the back of the head, breaking her heel off against his helmet.

Unfortunately, she no longer had the advantage of surprise. _Where's the last one?_

She caught a flash of red out of the corner of her eye just in time to sidestep a punch, though it grazed her jaw. When he came at her again, she grabbed the cobra's arm and flipped him over her shoulder. However, he rolled with the attack, caught her on the hip and reversed the throw. She fell hard on her back and tried to recapture the air that left her lungs. The guardsman mounted her, his hands at her throat, and he squeezed. She kicked and screamed, but already having a deficit of air, it started to get dark.

A massive hand slapped around the grill of the guardsman's helmet. His hold was released, and she gasped the sweet air.

Roadblock hoisted the guardsman to his feet by the rim of his helmet and slammed him back down with a devastating hammer-fist to his face. Cover Girl rose by her teammates side; there were guardsmen in front of them and behind them. Roadblock picked up the unconscious guardsman at his feet and plowed a path through the oncoming enemy.

Cover Girl vaulted over her partner's broad shoulders, and her kick sent two enemies slamming into the wall. She yelped when Roadblock grabbed her by the waist, and he threw her clear over the wave of approaching guardsmen. She righted herself in midair and landed near the exit.

She reached for the door handle, but someone grabbed her by the scruff of her collar and pinned her against the wall: it was Mr. Aloof. Cover Girl pulled out her pistol, but Mr. Aloof snatched it from her and, in a frightening display of strength, bent the barrel between his fingers.

Helpless, all Cover Girl could do was look on as more and more guardsmen surrounded Roadblock.

Twelve guardsmen had joined the fray. No room to maneuver in the narrow passageway reduced the fight into an exercise of simple brute strength. The only advantage in Roadblock's favor was the expendability of precision: everywhere he threw a punch was guaranteed to land on someone.

Four guardsmen managed to break through his defenses and pile on top of him. Roadblock coiled up and rested as he weathered their attacks. _I hope Courtney got away..._

When he saw that Courtney had been captured, he exploded to his feet, sending three of his attackers flying. He winced when a searing pain ripped through his arm. He pulled the TASER wire out, but by then two guardsmen held his legs fast. Three more TASERs burned into his back, and Roadblock succumbed, his body shaking violently in convulsions.


	5. Heartbeats

Crimson Guard Stronghold – ? Hrs

Roadblock's journey back to consciousness was slow and painful. When he was finally self aware, he started to open his eyes, but quickly shut them because of the bright light that shone overhead. He surmised that he was on the ground lying on his back. He started to rise, however his muscles were still flaccid from the electrical shocks of the many TASER stings. Moreover, his head was nestled into something that was warm and soft. Gentle fingertips stroked his troubled brow, so he gave in and allowed himself that comfort.

He squinted until his eyes adjusted to the light, and his vision eventually came into focus on her familiar face. His head resting in Cover Girl's lap; her hair dangled to where its ends brushed against his cheek. He sat up and discovered that his hands were bound by chains.

She smiled weakly. "You had me worried there for a second."

He shrugged. "I haven't slept this good since we left the States." Roadblock regarded the small musty cell illuminated by a single light that hung the ceiling. The only way out was through a thick rusted metal door. The surrounding masonry was riddled with mildew and slime. He tested the chains that bound each of his wrists to a pair of iron moors built into the wall at roughly waist height. _Solid stainless steel._

Being similarly shackled, Cover Girl smiled knowingly. "At least they spared no expense on the handcuffs."

He snorted. "Where are we?"

"Same place, just further underground."

He kept his mind on the mission. "Now we know why Adjani ordered the electrician's report."

"Yeah, I was pondering that as well. It does seem unusual to run power to an undeveloped land plot."

"That should've been a red flag. I feel like an idiot for not seeing it before."

"Hindsight is 20/20, Marvs. Besides, they hid it exceptionally well in a mountain of paperwork and red tape."

"Still, how could Cobra run an operation out here for so long without anyone noticing?"

"Well, I took in as much as I could on the trip down here. From the state of disrepair, and the general disorganization, I'd say that this base its not permanently manned. It looks to be a type of way station."

"I would tend to agree with you, Courtney. Did you notice how surprised the guards were when we entered the command center? They obviously haven't bothered to set up any kind of surveillance; otherwise we wouldn't have been able to waltz right up in here."

They quieted when the lock on the door disengaged. Two Crimson Guardsmen entered. One carried a TASER and the other carried a tray with 2 bowls. Roadblock rose to his feet, and he was shot down with a TASER.

Cover Girl took up the slack in her chains, and she kicked the TASER wire out of him. The she was rewarded with a full on punch to the face. She staggered, as everything began to go dark, and she slumped to the ground.

Roadblock reached for the guard's throat, cursing him. His arms moved as though he were pushing through molasses, and his legs dragged as if bound by lead weights. The guardsmen remained just out of reach, taunting him.

He leveled his TASER, and Roadblock wisely stood down.

The Cobras dropped the tray to the ground. "Bon appetite Joe." And they left.

The contents of the bowls spilled onto the ground. What was supposed to be their 'food' looked more like something that should have been flushed down a toilet. The roaches, having eaten their fill, scurried to hide in the nearest available crack in the floor.

Roadblock took up the slack in his chains, reached over and took hold of Cover Girl, paying special attention to her head and neck as he cradled her in his chest. He felt her scalp for contusions; there was already a bruise forming on her cheek where the guardsman had hit her. He brushed the dirt and lichen from her face and hair. Her body was tense, her breathing was shallow, and her eyelids fluttered. Roadblock whispered into her ear, and she relaxed in his embrace.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

_THA-THUMP... THA-THUMP... THA-THUMP_

The rhythmic cadence was comforting to Cover Girl's ears. It was steady; it was warm; it was powerful. She kicked and swam hard to break the surface of her consciousness. When she awoke, she bolted upright with a gasp. She regarded Roadblock, who had his back against the wall and his arm draped around her for support. When she got her bearings about her, she sat up.

"Thanks," she said.

"Just returning the favor."

She winced as she rubbed the bruise on her cheek. It was numb in the center, but sore around the edges. "How long have I been out?"

"About an hour."

Their attention was turned back toward the door as the lock was disengaged. Inside walked a Tele-Viper followed by the Crimson Guard Commander:

"Tomax!" Roadblock exclaimed.

Upon seeing Roadblock, Tomax squinted and put his index finger to his mouth, tapping his lips with his finger tip.

The Tele-Viper, perceiving Tomax's memory struggle, answered, "Hinton, Marvin... Primary Military Operational Specialty: Heavy Machine Gunner... Operative Name: Roadblock."

Tomax snapped his fingers. "That's right... Roadblock." He regarded the other prisoner. "Who's the girl?"

The Tele-Viper withdrew into himself. "Accessing facial recognition database... Partial match found: O'Hara, Shana... Primary Military Operational Specialty: Counter-Intelligence... Operative Name: Scarlett."

"I am not Scarlet, you moron!"

It was then that Zarana entered the cel. "Her name is Cover Girl," she said, correcting the Tele-Viper. "She's a washed-up model."

"I see time hasn't improved your fashion sense, Zarana," Cover Girl said, regarding the woman's limp. "How's the shin?"

Zarana grinned. "How's your jaw?" She stood next to Tomax, taking his proffered arm, and she kissed his cheek.

"You must forgive the accommodations," Tomax said. "This place used to be a safe house for the French resistance during World War two because of its strategic location and ample water supply. We only have one true holding cell, and it's occupied at the moment."

"I take it that's where you're holding Adjani prisoner?" Roadblock questioned.

"You mean the private investigator? Let's just say the interrogator got carried away and made a mess of things."

Cover Girl snorted. "Is that supposed to scare us?"

Tomax raised an eyebrow. "Of course."

Cover Girl was not impressed. "Why don't I save us all some time here, Xamot—"

"That's Tomax—"

"Whatever. We all know this is the part where you threaten us with bodily harm if we don't tell you everything we know. Correct?"

"Correct."

"In which case, we'll shoot back with some witty repartee like... uh... Help me out here, Roadblock."

Roadblock shrugged. "I got nothin'."

Tomax grinned. "The difference here, Joe, is by the time we're done with you, you'll be begging to tell us at what age you stopped wetting the bed."

Tomax, Zarana, and the Tele-Viper left the room. The heavy door closed.

Cover Girl glared at Roadblock. "How could you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You let Xamot have the last word—"

"Tomax."

"Oh, _now_ you wanna be funny? You _never_ let the bad guy have the last word. It's a rule."

"Sorry, I'll be sure to remember that the next time we stumble upon a secret terrorist cell hideout." Roadblock placed both feet against the wall and pushed hard. On pure muscle-power he was standing perpendicular to the wall and parallel to the floor.

"Marvs, what are you doing?"

"One more zap from that TASER, and I won't have the strength to try this later."

"But, even you can't break those chains."

"The chains may be unbreakable, but look at the moors they're attached to... Decades of oxidation from the humidity has made the iron and surrounding concrete brittle. Do you remember what I told you back in the States the night before we left?"

"Yeah, I take it that this is the part were we pull it out of the fire at the last minute?"

Roadblock arched his back and bucked as hard as he could against the wall. Bone and sinew strained against steel. Steel strained against iron and concrete. Each gave as much ground as they were willing to give: something, or someone, had to break.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

"I swear, Tomax, your goons are worse than the Dreadnocks," Zarana said.

"Well, my dear, they need an outlet after having been inactive for so long," Tomax replied.

They made their way to the infirmary where a Medi-Viper was treating a number of guards for severe injuries at the hands of Roadblock.

The Medi-Viper acknowledged Tomax with "Hail Cobra!"

Tomax rolled his eyes. When you're done here, see to our guests. He then held up a finger in warning. "This time _no_ summary executions without my approval, is that understood?"

"Perfectly," the Medi-Viper replied.

"You can do whatever you want to the girl, but I want the man left relatively unharmed. He will make an excellent candidate for the MAMBA program."

The Medi-Viper sneered. "Thank-you sir, I'll be sure to take my time as he watches helpless."

Zarana grimaced. "Pervert..." And she left behind Tomax.

Tomax held the infirmary door open for her. "Careful, my dear. One day he might have to save your life on the battle field."

"I'll slit my wrists first, luv," Zarana replied with a saccharine smile.

"Bitch," the Medi-Viper said under his breath at the door's close. He retrieved his special medical kit and left the infirmary. A lone guardsman was waiting for him.

The Medi-Viper scowled. _He doesn't trust me... That pink-haired hillbilly must have something to do with that..._

The guardsman escorted the Medi-Viper to the holding cell in silence. He opened the door and regarded his fresh prisoners. He placed his medical bag on a table near the door and unraveled the contents therein. He systematically examined each instrument, holding it up so the light would gleam off of the silver finish. Each time he held up a scalpel, he eyed Cover Girl in the reflective surface. Her glower was better than foreplay. He carefully arranged them on the table on top of a sterile pad.

"Let's begin," he said.

The guardsman shot Roadblock with his TASER; sending him to the ground in a fit. The Medi-Viper approached Cover Girl, being sure to stay well out of Roadblock's reach. He grabbed her face at the jawline; she struggled at first, but stopped resisting once he tightened his grip, causing her to whimper.

"My, you _are_ a pretty one," the Medi-Viper said. He examined the bruise on her cheek. "Don't worry, I wouldn't dream of ruining this face."

He dug his thumb into her bruise and brought his scalpel to bear. Cover Girl cried out for mercy; her pleading diverted the attention of the guardsman managing Roadblock's TASER. The Guardsman regarded her – which was the _cue_ Roadblock was waiting for. He pulled out the TASER wire and rose to his feet. The Guardsman froze in shock as Roadblock whipped his chains around. The chains cut the air with a hiss; each end having a concrete bludgeon attached. Before the Guardsman could draw his gun, two wrecking balls of concrete smashed simultaneously on both sides his helmet, rattling the skull inside.

The Medi-Viper turned to the source of the noise and saw Roadblock standing over his unconscious escort. He screamed when Cover Girl kneed him in the groin. He grabbed his crotch and doubled over in pain, to make matters worse on his way down his jaw met Cover Girl's follow-up knee on its way up. He fell to his back, rolling on the floor in agony, making a gurgling sound as his jaw had been dislocated.

Roadblock grimaced. "Why do you females always have to go for the nuts?"

She shrugged. "I get the feeling that he deserved it more than most." She kicked him again, and the Medi-Viper fainted.

"What a poser, he cried like a _girl,_ " Roadblock said.

"HEY!"

He grinned. "Sorry."

Roadblock knelt over the guard and searched his pockets. Keys in hand, they unlocked each others handcuffs. Cover Girl gasped at the lacerations on Roadblock's wrists where the cuffs dug into his flesh.

"Oh, my God, Roadblock. You need stitches."

"It's just a few scratches..."

She frowned. "Stop being macho." She collected some iodine and gauze from the Medi-Viper's medical bag. She cleaned his wounds and wrapped them in gauze. "This should at least keep it from getting infected."

He flexed his arm. "Good as new... So, what's the plan?"

"How about we get the hell outta here?"

"Yes ma'am."

They traded raiment with the Cobras: Cover Girl dressed as the Medi-Viper and Roadblock as the Crimson Guardsman. They left the cell and proceeded to the upper levels.

Roadblock loosened his collar. "Aargh!"

"What is it?"

"This uniform is too tight."

"Look at me. I'm _swimming_ in these pants, and you don't see me complaining, do you?"

"I don't know how these guys breathe in these things. And the inside of this helmet smells like ass!"

"I swear, Marvs; sometimes you're worse than a chick."

Roadblock grinned. "I guess it could be worse... at least it's not my Army Greens."

She glanced over her shoulder. "Do you think we're going to be able to pull this off?"

"Yeah, as long as no one looks too closely. Which means _you_ have to stop walking like that."

"I can't help it if I have hips!"

When they arrived at the upper level, they quieted. Cover Girl walked closely behind Roadblock, propping her medical bag in front of her in order to hide her gait. Roadblock rounded a corner, and he halted abruptly; Cover Girl almost bumped into him. They resumed. When she rounded the corner, she saw what gave him pause as Mr. Aloof was walking in their direction. She shrank, hunching her shoulders as they passed the behemoth, and she felt a chill go down her spine as the ground vibrated under his heavy footsteps. She let out an audible sigh of relief when he disappeared down the way.

They crossed paths with a Tele-Viper, and Roadblock followed him to the communications bunker, but he stopped short of following him inside. He regarded the air duct feeding into the room, and he back-tracked to an access panel.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"That's the Tele-Viper that accompanied Tomax."

"So?"

"This may be our only chance to get some real intel."

"How are we going to do that, just walk in there?"

"No, that's too risky." He removed the access panel. "Somebody's going to have to go in through the air duct."

"How are you going to fit in there? It's too small."

He grinned. "For _me_ it is."

"Great," she said, scowling with her hands on her hips. She crawled into duct and Roadblock put the panel back in place. "You better be here when I get back!"

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

It was a tight fit inside the crawlspace of the service hatch. Cover Girl inched her way along patiently. When she got to the primary junction the connection ducts fanned out, giving her more room. She saw a light at the end, marking her destination; however, she gave pause as she came across a fresh brick of C-4. She examined it:

_A 10-pound brick set with a remote wireless detonator... A self destruct protocol maybe?_

Satisfied, she continued on, giving the C-4 a wide berth, and she found the air grate leading into the communications room. Peering between the flaps of the grate, she could see the Tele-Viper jacked into a display terminal. Tomax and Zarana were talking to a third party on the screen who she could not see from her vantage point, but whose deep baritone voice she recognized immediately.

"Communications link established," the Tele-Viper said.

 _"Report,"_ Destro ordered, his voice thundered over the comm-link.

"Don't bark at me, Destro," Tomax said with a frown. "I'm keeping you informed as a courtesy."

It was impossible to read Destro's expression behind his metal mask. _"Then I_ courteously _ask you to: Report!"_

Tomax sighed. "We currently have two members of the GI Joe team in custody. It seems that my coming here may have been premature."

_"Why do you say that?"_

"Because they sent a chef and a mechanic. The private investigator probably knew more than they did, which is next to nothing."

_"It has been my experience to never dismiss GI Joe so lightly."_

"It has been _mine_ as well, which is why we are questioning them at this very moment."

_"Good. How has the MAMBA performed in the field?"_

"Better than expected. We've acquired some real-time battle data against the Joes: his speed, strength, and stamina are well above peak-human. Moreover, outfitting him with the new body armor alloys has made him nigh invulnerable."

_"Excellent."_

"I think one of the Joes would make a worthy test candidate."

_"Is that wise?"_

"Don't worry; the process removes all vestiges of free will. He'll be made sufficiently pliable with the new technologies we've acquired."

_"Just don't loose sight of the ultimate goal of the MAMBA project. We can't afford to spend millions using trial-and-error methods."_

Zarana broke away and wiped her brow. "Whew, is it me or did it get hot in here all of a sudden." She checked the environmental controls, then she put her hand up to the air vent. "I don't feel any air coming out of there."

 _Shit!_ Cover Girl crawled back the way she came as quietly as she could. Zarana dragged a crate over to the air vent. She stood on the crate and reached for the vent when an alarm sounded all over the complex.

 _"Is something wrong?"_ Destro asked in a sarcastic tone.

Zarana hopped off. "Do you think the Joes escaped?"

"Impossible," Tomax replied. He regarded the Tele-Viper, saying, "Give me a sitrep, now!"

The Tele-Viper withdrew into his electronics. "Reports are coming in from our forward positions... French special forces have penetrated the complex."

 _"It appears your problems aren't over yet,"_ Destro commented.

Tomax gave the 'kill' sign, and the Tele-Viper ended the transmission. "Stay here and coordinate our forces; try to jam their comm-links." He took Zarana by her arm, and led her out. "Come, my dear, such matters are left best to underlings."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Cover Girl made her way back to the access panel. She found Roadblock standing guard outside. She kicked the panel open and joined him in the hall. She could hear the sound of gunfire and explosions coming from the floor above.

"Is that alarm for us?" Roadblock said.

"No, the Action Team is here."

"Talk about good timing... Did you overhear anything else?"

"I'll tell you on the way out of here. I don't want to get caught in a cross-fire."

Cover Girl ran through the corridors with Roadblock behind her. Relying on her memory, they were able to find the stairs leading to the next level up. The stairs between floors was connected by a narrow catwalk. The echoes of gun fire could be heard high overhead. Cover Girl looked down over the railing: it was pitch black.

The catwalk led to the large circular corridor where they started. All they had to do was follow the perimeter to the service hatch.

"We're almost home!" Cover Girl said, but she yelp when Roadblock grabbed her from behind, jerking her hard enough to make her hair fall out of her helmet, and they ducked into an adjacent corridor just in time to avoid a hail of bullets.

She took her fingers out of her ears long enough to ask, "Who's shooting at us?"

Roadblock peeked around the corner, then immediately retreated as bullets ricocheted against the wall. "It's friendlies."

"Let's tell them that we're Joes."

"In our current getup? Be my guest."

They were forced to go back the way they came. When they got to the catwalk, they were met by a squad of Crimson Guard troopers, followed by Mr. Aloof. The troopers passed them on the catwalk to engage the French military forces.

Mr. Aloof stilled.

The Joes were about to step off the catwalk, when Cover Girl shrieked as Mr. Aloof grabbed her by the hair that hung out of her helmet.

Roadblock shot Aloof point blank, and he released her. Aloof swatted the rifle out of Roadblock's hands, picked him up, and he threw him to the other side of the catwalk. Roadblock landed hard on his back; he managed to grab onto the railing to keep from falling over the side. He winced as the wounds opened up again. Flecks of crimson colored his bandages.

Cover Girl recovered the rifle and fired into Aloof, but the giant pushed through, his arms protecting his head. Her weapon spent, he reached for her, but he stumbled when Roadblock smashed his shoulder into him, pinning him against the wall. Aloof pushed off the wall and twisted, swinging with a blind haymaker. Roadblock ducked, grabbed Aloof, and he hip-tossed him over the railing. Aloof managed to hold onto Roadblock's lapel and they both fell over the side.

"Marvin!"

Cover Girl ran to the ledge and searched the darkness... there was no sign of either of them.


	6. Showdowns

Roadblock splashed into the waters far below the catwalk. The thick leather of the Crimson Guard uniform offered some protection, but it still felt like slamming into a brick wall. Luckily, the helmet he wore had inlets that automatically closed, a defense for chemical attacks, but it worked just as well for water. The self contained breathing apparatus inside had enough air for a few minutes – plenty of time for him to get a second wind and swim back to the surface. He swam for a ledge at the foot of a tunnel carved out in the rock. It was dark, but the night vision in his helmet helped him to negotiate the path.

_I'll never call Cobra tech second-rate again._

He came across a maintenance hatch: it opened on the level containing the holding cells.

_Right back where we started..._

The faint sounds of gunfire still persisted high above. He smirked as he passed the prison cell; the guards that he and Cover Girl overpowered earlier had since reawakened and were banging on the cell door.

Past the holding cells, there was a natural grotto that served as an antechamber. A layer of metal was hammered at the entrances in order to give the doors purchase against the rock. Roadblock regarded the strata as his hand slid against its smoothness. The corridors leading to the stairs were surrounded in natural bedrock, so not even the sounds of the battle above could filter through. This made for excellent acoustics as every footfall echoed loudly. He stopped when he came to a fork in the hallway, trying to remember whether to make a left or a right, when he noticed that the echoes of footsteps not his own persisted. And he scowled:

_I'm not alone._

He regarded the narrowness of his surroundings.

_I can't risk meeting him in here..._

He doubled back to the antechamber. He walked around to get a feel of the room, checking for slippery spots and other such perils. He took off the tight-fitting jacket so his movements could be as free as possible. He removed his helmet to maximize his field of vision, and he searched his pockets:

_No weapons._

He regarded the items that he had discarded: the thick leather jacket, wrapped around his arm, would make a decent shield. The helmet, cupped over his fist, could double as a bludgeon.

The ominous footfalls were getting louder. He knelt in the center of the antechamber and readied his most important weapon.

_Lord, my enemy is in sight. Pray, give me a good fight, and grant me Sampson's might._

The echoes quieted, creating a deathly silence. Roadblock opened his eyes.

Mr. Aloof stood at the entrance, his head cocked to one side, studying Roadblock with a childlike curiosity. Eventually, he approached.

His target in range, Roadblock sprung to his feet and charged with his helmet swinging. The hits that he landed were solid, but they merely bounced of Aloof's body armor. When Aloof reached for him, Roadblock feinted, then redirected the attack to his enemy's face.

The sound of the blow echoed.

Aloof was forced to take a step backward. He regarded the small man; the corners of his mouth turned downward.

 _That hurt him!_ Roadblock followed up with another strike, but Aloof caught the helmet.

The two men stood there – neither one giving up ground. Aloof tightened his grip, and it cracked like an eggshell. Pieces of the helmet where scattered to the ground.

A single shard remained in Roadblock's hand; he gripped the shard tightly between his fingers, for he now had a weapon with a point. He waited.

Aloof attacked with a punch to the face. Roadblock deftly avoided it and countered with an elbow to the ribs on Aloof's exposed side – it was like hitting sheet metal.

Roadblock retreated. _Not yet..._

Aloof rushed him again: this time the attack was committed. Roadblock deflected the hail of blows; though softened through his jacket, each block reminded him of the lacerations on his wrist. He was forced to change tactics: using speed to evade. As each punch passed dangerously close, Roadblock got a sense of the sheer power put behind every one of the lethal blows.

Roadblock threw a jab during a lull, but Aloof slapped it away.

_Too fast._

Roadblock blocked Aloof's follow up, but the force put behind the left cross made him stumble. He rolled to his feet, his chest heaved.

_That was stupid!_

Roadblock baited him, and Aloof threw another punch. The soldier ducked and drove the shard between a gap in the armor, searching for the subclavian artery deep into the armpit. He was rewarded for his assault by a solid backfist to the head that sent him reeling backward into the wall.

Pressing the advantage, Aloof charged, leading with his heavy foot. Roadblock barely regained his balance in time to twist his body out of the way. The kick narrowly missed his chest, pummeling the wall behind him with the force of a sledgehammer.

Roadblock held Aloof's leg fast long enough to plunge the shard as hard as he could into the inner thigh – it was like pushing through steel wool as the shard penetrated flesh and muscle. For the first time Aloof roared in pain. Roadblock paid a price as well, spraining his wrist, but he got the opening he needed: with his good arm, he threw an uppercut that connected square on the jaw.

Aloof stumbled.

The time for pugilistic elegance was over. Roadblock held nothing back. Only adrenaline – sweet adrenaline – allowed him to push through the pain in his wrist. However, fatigue would have its toll—it felt like his heart was about to burst. He hesitated, and Aloof slipped a punch into his midsection, forcing him to retreat. His vision blurring, he willed himself to stay conscious. His reserves were depleted, but Aloof was still going strong.

_Or, is he?_

Aloof approached with a hint of a limp. Blood dripped off the end of his fingers on the arm that suffered the stab, leaving a trail of red behind him.

_Muscles need blood to move..._

In order for his new plan to work, he would again have to bait Aloof into delivering a killing blow. He exaggerated his fatigue by slumping to his hands and knees and pretending to faint. Unfortunately, once he allowed himself to relax, his muscles became flaccid, not wanting to obey his commands, so he gave in to his exhaustion for the moment and concentrated on breathing to get his body out of oxygen debt. He stilled, and his heart worked. The beating in his chest was so loud he almost didn't notice when Aloof was standing over him with his non-bloodied fist raised overhead, ready to give the _coup de grace_.

 _Shit!_ At the last possible second, Roadblock rolled to the side of Aloof's bloodied arm as the fist came crashing down. At the end of human strength, he leapt into the air directly above Aloof's exposed head. He channeled all of his weight—an eighth of a ton—through the point of his elbow and into his enemy's temple.

Bone grinded against bone. The skull held – but the neck did not. Mr. Aloof slumped to the floor; his body twitched, then it was still.

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Cover Girl retreated to the level below. She couldn't escape, but she couldn't go back the way she came either. The only option was to avoid contact with both sides and try to find her partner. She hid behind a niche in the wall as a squad of Crimson Guardsmen marched past. When it was clear she resumed to the next level down, moving as far away from the sounds of battle as possible. When she passed a utility closet, the door swung open, and someone pulled her in. Before she could scream, a hand clasped over her mouth. She recognized the voice of her captor.

"It's me, Mademoiselle."

"Evrard?" She turned around and indeed it was agent Evrard dressed in Action Team tactical gear. Relieved, she hugged him. "How did you know it was me?"

"One does not forget a walk like yours."

Cover Girl blushed. "How did you find us?"

"Easy. I put a tracker in your vehicle. When you did not check in, I knew something was wrong."

"So, you're stalking me now?" she said with a smirk. "So, what's the plan, and where's the rest of your team?"

"I separated from them in order to flank Cobra. We don't have much time, so we need to move now."

"What about Roadblock? He's still out there."

"All in due time. He will have to fend for himself for now."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Roadblock, recovered from the battle, retraced his steps back to the communication bunker.

_I hope Dial Tone's still listening._

When he entered the room, the Tele-viper was too busy to pay him any mind. As Roadblock neared, however, the Tele-viper happened to look up from his monitor, and he scowled: the word 'INTRUDER' flashed across his uni-goggles.

_Oops, I forgot: no helmet..._

The Tele-viper rushed him, but Roadblock was not in the best of moods, so he probably kicked him harder that he intended when his foot smashed into the Tele-viper's face. He would most likely later regret stomping on the Tele-viper's wrist as he reached for the alarm – breaking it in the process. And, he would most definitely feel guilty tomorrow for picking him up and throwing him in to a nearby crate, thus reducing it to splinters... But, not today.

Roadblock accessed the communication terminal and tapped into GI Joe's satellite feed.

Dial Tone immediately broke into the feed, saying, _"This is a restricted frequency. You are in violation of United States Federal law..."_

"Dial Tone, this is Staff Sgt. Marvin Hinton. Pass code: Yo Joe Victor Fox-Trot 547"

_"Roadblock! Where have you been? Are you alright?"_

"I'm right in the middle of snake central. I need you to get a message to Dr. Métier at French intelligence..."

_"Oh, right, you wouldn't know... Dr. Métier is in custody. Agent Evrard is in charge now."_

Roadblock curled his lip. "Dial Tone, tell me _exactly_ what happened."

_"When you didn't check in, I reached out to Evrard. He had already started an investigation of his own, and in the process found some Cobra paraphernalia at Dr. Métier's residence. He's currently leading a strike team to rescue you."_

"Yeah, by the sound of things they're here, but its total FUBAR. Are you still in contact with the strike team?"

_"No, they've gone dark."_

"I need you to get on the horn with the Director... I have a feeling that this operation is about to go sideways really fast!"

_"How so?"_

"Métier is not the mole."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

Cover Girl followed Evrard through the corridors of what appeared to be the command bunkers. She was impressed by how quickly and efficiently he moved. They haven't met any resistance yet, although she considered that most of them were engaged in the firefight. They ducked into a larger dimly-lit room that looked like a receiving area.

"We have to make a stop here then we will rejoin the others to find RoadBlock. I need you to act as lookout," he whispered.

"If I'm going to cover you, I need ammo – this AK I've been carrying around is out," she said.

Evrard regarded her weapon. "Crude." He replaced the magazine in his FAMAS, and he handed it to her.

Cover Girl received the proffered rifle, and she stood guard by the entrance. She regarded Evrard intently as he removed an object from his backpack before disappearing behind a support column. On his return, he flipped the switch on a small device, and he put it in his pocket.

Her eyes narrowed. "What is that?"

"No time to explain. We should go." He brushed past her.

Ignoring him, she retraced his steps. Her eyes widened at the ten pound brick of C-4, wired with a remote detonator, installed in the ceiling.

She examined the familiar wiring. "What are you doing?"

"It is just a contingency. The hatch on the other side of that wall is the most likely route of escape. It's just to insure that Cobra can't get away while we pinch them off."

Cover Girl returned to his side. "Do you think I'm stupid?" And she punched Evrard in the face.

He rubbed his jaw and smiled. "Those bony knuckles of yours hurt..."

She scowled. "Just what the hell is French intelligence trying to pull here, Evrard?"

"Surely, I don't know what you're talking about, you American cow!"

"I saw other charges just like this planted in the ventilation system by the communications bunker. I'm willing to bet that there are others scattered strategically around the base. This is a demolition operation!"

Evrard started to speak, but he reversed himself, his arms folded, saying instead, "If you had the opportunity to take out the Crimson Guard in one clean strike, wouldn't you take advantage of that?"

"How is that even possible?" With a gasp she stilled, whispering, "Tomax..." And Her eyes widened when she came to a horrible realization. A chill went through her body as the blood left her extremities. Her heart raced, pounding so hard she thought it was going to beat out of her chest. "To take out a facility of this size using C-4 ordnance would take days to plan. You would have to know the layout, especially to get around undetected... You've been here before... many times."

"Finally putting it together are you?"

Cover Girl raised her weapon. Evrard pulled out his backup pistol and did the same. The two were at a stand-off.

She felt her lip tremble. "You're a Siegie."

"I was wondering if you would ever catch on."

"It was _your_ dish that was poisoned at the restaurant.... The brake lines on _your_ car were cut.... They weren't trying to kill Joes; they were trying to kill _you!"_

"Clever girl."

 _I have to stall._ "You were going to walk out of that hatch and bring this whole facility down on everyone... Why?"

"I don't think this is the time or place, Mademoiselle."

"We're going to make time, Evrard! Why all these games? Is this some kind of Crimson Guard civil war?"

"I prefer to think of it as, how do you say, _going on strike?"_

"I don't understand."

"The fall of Cobra-La, left Cobra in shambles. Reports started to trickle here and there that everyone in the upper ranks was dead. As time passed, it seemed that those reports were true, for there had been no official word from anyone in authority for months. Many of us in the Crimson Guard resigned ourselves to live out our lives in cover. After all, we had money, power, and influence... not a bad severance package. Some of us got married and started families. We even sought each other out and formed our own regional fraternities."

"You and Gaschot! That's how you _conveniently_ found his stash: you knew where to look."

"Very good. Oui, we were friends."

"So, the phone call that set him off... he was being reactivated." She gasped. "You were _all_ being reactivated."

"Correct."

"But, your name didn't show up on the database query."

He grinned. "Er, and _who_ provided you with the database again?"

She frowned. "So, I take it that, rather than reporting for duty, you guys gave notice."

"They were going to infect all of humanity with mutagenic spores! How would it make you feel, being so casually cast aside as collateral damage?" Evrard regained his composure. "There are other cells that are willing to follow my lead, but only if I win here."

"Why involve GI Joe?"

"When my friend Marius died, I knew it wouldn't be long before they would come after me. I figured that a GI Joe presence would flush out Tomax and Xamot. If I managed to take them out, it would break the back of the Crimson Guard. Besides, you Joes have always had a knack for foiling Cobra's plans."

"Is that why you came on to me so strong?"

"I'm afraid so. You are very beautiful, mademoiselle, but I was more interested in you as a means of protection. That, and it would look suspicious if I uncovered all the clues by myself: I had to nudge you and Roadblock in the right direction a few times."

She snorted. "I can't believe I actually thought _you_ were cute. All of this was unnecessary, Evrard; you didn't have to kill those kids just to get our attention. We would have helped you, protected you. We still can."

"I'm sure, but then, I would have to give up everything I've worked for. I've grown very fond of my power. I've even decided to take advantage of this little drama to remove that idiot Métier from office, giving me a clear line to the position. With my knowledge of Cobra operations, I could put together a task force even more effective than GI Joe. "

"In other words, you want to have your cake and eat it too. Spoken like a true Cobra."

"Don't be so naïve. We shouldn't be fighting; this is how the game is played... enemies become friends like a shifting breeze."

"I'm not a politician." Her finger tensed on the trigger. "I'm going to stop you."

He sneered. "How are you going to do that with an empty gun? Do you think I would have given you a loaded weapon if I thought that I might have to kill you later?"

Cover Girl called him on his bluff:

_CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!_

He sneer deepened. "Look, I know you've been trying to stall me. Unfortunately I can't wait any longer trying to convince you."

"Why did you bother to wait if you were going to kill me?"

He lowered his weapon. "I have no desire to kill you. Not all of it was a game. I was hoping against hope that you would at least sympathize if I offered you the Crimson Guard on a platter."

In desperation, she spat in his face and ran for the hatch. Evrard wiped the saliva from his face with his hand, and he licked his fingers.

He took aim. "Goodbye, beautiful one." And he pulled the trigger:

_BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!_

Cover Girl shrieked and instinctively fell to the ground balled up. She didn't even feel the bullets enter her body.

_BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!_

She screamed. The gunshots split her eardrums, but something was wrong:

_I'm still alive!_

She dared to look; she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Roadblock was standing between her and Evrard, shielding her with his body.

_BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!_

Tears rolled down her cheek as she cried out his name. She could hear the splatter of each bullet as it tore into her teammate. Roadblock went down on one knee, but still defiantly faced Evrard.

Evrard laughed.

_BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!_

She cursed Evrard with a string of obscenities, but they were not proof against bullets. The precious time that Roadblock bought her was about to run out.

_Think dammit!_

She regarded his gun. _It's a Glock 19...._ And started counting back.

_BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!_

She ran out as fast as she could from behind her human shield to engage Evrard, gripping her FAMAS. With a smirk, Evrard instinctively trained his weapon at Cover Girl's forehead, and he pulled the trigger.

_CLICK!_

Evrard's eye's widened as he realized he was empty. "Merde!" And his training took over, ejecting the magazine, slapping in a fresh replacement and racking the slide. He brought it to bear one more time.

_BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!_

Cover Girl slid under the bullets, passing by his leg, and she vaulted to her feet – they were now standing back to back. With a prayer on her lips, she twisted her body and swung blind with the butt of her rifle just as Evrard came about to reacquire his target. His gun hand met the end of her rifle butt at terminal speed. Cover Girl allowed herself a sadistic smile when she felt the rifle butt break his fingers like twigs. Evrard screamed, his gun skidding across the room.

Cover Girl drove her heel into Evrard's knee, disappointed that it didn't break, but at least it forced him to kneel. She raised her rifle high, ready to smash it against his skull.

Evrard anticipated the attack and speared Cover Girl's exposed solar-plexus with his fingertips. He rose and head butted her. She staggered backwards. Evrard reached for her, but she rolled away to regroup.

Though dazed, she swung her rifle furiously, being sure to stay on the side of his injured wrist and knee. She continued to punish his forearm as he raised it to protect his head.

In an unexpected move, Evrard transferred all of his weight to his injured knee and spun around to dig his heel into her hip. The sudden jolt caused her to drop her rifle. Evrard spun in the opposite direction with a haymaker aimed at Cover Girl's head. She ducked the punch and jabbed at the ribs on his exposed side, but Evrard brought his elbow back to block the jab. She launched her knee at his chest, but he punched the inside her thigh, causing her to spin out of control. She landed on her back, giving the back of her head enough of a knock to make her eyes roll up.

Everything started to go black.

_Get up, Courtney!_

When she came to, she saw that Evrard was heading for his gun. She managed to her feet, but fell back down as she lost her balance.

_If he gets to that gun, it's all over!_

She fought against the blood rushing to her head, and she ran as fast as she could. The room was still spinning, so she kept her eyes focused on Evrard for a stationary point of reference. She jumped on his back, wrapping her arm around his neck and her legs around his waist.

Evrard screamed in a murderous cry as he forced his sore knee to stay upright against the sudden load of her added weight. Cover Girl used the distraction to assert her grip: she hooked her feet and squeezed his diaphragm between her thighs; she locked her hand around her forearm to complete the choke-hold.

Evrard flailed in a berserker rage, slamming her into the wall behind them, but she was dug in like a tick. He pulled her head back by the hair; she screamed as her hair strained at the roots. She forced her head forward against the hair-pull and bit into his ear. Evrard clawed for her eyes, but she moved her head out of the way and bit into his hand. When she tasted the salty mix of sweat and blood, she bit harder until tooth struck bone.

In one last desperate act, Evrard used the last of his strength to jump backwards into the air. He hoped to sandwich Cover Girl between himself and the floor, smashing her skull against the ground in the process. Cover Girl twisted in mid-air, and they both fell on their side. Her leg was crushed between Evrard and the floor, but it had the benefit driving her thigh deeper into his gut – what little air Evrard held onto was lost.

They were both winded, but Cover Girl had the luxury of breathing while Evrard was denied even a wisp of sweet air. His face turned red, his eyelids fluttered, and his breathing became shallow.

When Cover Girl felt the pulse in his neck beat slowly and weakly against her bicep. She relaxed her grip and kicked him off her leg. She rifled through Evrard's pockets. The room was still spinning so she started to crawl toward the gun. She stilled when she heard someone clapping.

Tomax stepped out from the corridor. "Bravo, my dear. You may have just singlehandedly saved my Crimson Guard. I am in your debt, so don't take this to mean that I'm ungrateful, but I'm going to shoot you dead now."

He raised his weapon, and he charged the handle. Cover Girl slowly raised her hands to reveal an object she held in her palm. Tomax recognized the remote detonator. He frowned and lowered his weapon. Cover Girl pointed with her eyes, and he saw the bricks of C-4 installed in ceiling above.

Zarana entered. "Tomax, the froggies have broken our lines. We have to leave now!" She paused when she saw Cover Girl holding the detonator. "She'll blow herself up along with us... she's bluffing!"

Tomax shared a look with Cover Girl. "No, she's not."

"Whatever you're going to do, do it quick!" Zarana said.

Tomax regarded Cover Girl one last time, and he bowed. "Well played, milady." He then leveled his weapon at the unconscious Evrard, and he pulled the trigger.

Zarana covered her ears.

Cover Girl winced.

Tomax discarded his empty magazine, leaving behind a bloody clump of chopped meat and tattered clothes.

"Mission accomplished." He followed Zarana into the escape hatch, parting with, "Til we meet again, milady."

Cover Girl let out a sigh of relief. Still dizzy, she crawled over to Road Block. When she saw how still he laid there, the tears welled, and she wept over her fallen teammate.

Her head rested on his chest. She felt a hand stroking her hair.

_THA-THUMP...THA-THUMP...THA-THUMP_

She shot up when she heard the familiar sound. _Impossible!_ She removed his Crimson Guard Jacket, and she smiled:

"Where did you get this body armor?"

Roadblock managed a grin as he whispered, "I took it off the MAMBA."

Tears of sorrow now replaced by tears of joy, Cover Girl removed the body armor and loosened his clothing to allow him to breathe freely. She grimaced at the sight of his torso riddled with bruises. His body felt broken, so she did not move him any more than necessary.

She nestled his head in her lap. "You're going to be okay."

"I know." Roadblock wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Does it hurt?"

"Like a sonofabitch...." He closed his eyes and passed out.

She kissed his forehead.

Being distracted, she failed to notice the loud, fast-approaching gait of heavy footfalls, and she yelped when a team of troopers stormed the room. They came in fast and surrounded her. Shouting at her in French. She was careful to keep her hands raised, not moving a muscle. Her eyes finally came into focus on one of the soldiers who had his weapon leveled at her. She smiled when she noticed that he was armed with a FAMAS.

"Krieger: United States Army!"

The soldiers stilled with their weapons at the ready. One of them, with three chevrons on his sleeve, broke ranks, and he shined a flashlight in her face, causing her to wince. He then reached into his pocket and retrieved a picture. After studying it, he regarded Cover Girl, and he smiled:

"Yo Joe!"


	7. Epilogue - Anaconda Prime

GI Joe Headquarters – 0740 hrs

The sun shone a little brighter on the grounds of GI Joe central command. The door closed behind Cover Girl as she entered the common area. She removed her sunglasses and glanced at the clock that hung over the portrait of the President.

_I still have time._

She headed for the South corner elevator; the doors had started to close.

She quickened her pace. "Hold the door please."

The doors came to a stop then slowly opened. She entered the elevator, reaching into her pocket, and she greeted Lady Jaye with a smile.

Lady Jaye's finger hovered over the keypad. "Floor?"

"Command, please. Thank-you." She retrieved her towel chamois and dabbed the ends of her damp hair.

The doors closed, and the elevator started with a familiar jolt, lifting them to the upper levels. Cover Girl combed her fingers through her hair, separating it into sections, and she started to weave them together.

Lady Jaye looked on, curious. "I wish I could do that without a mirror."

"It's a necessary survival skill from my days in the lipstick jungle."

"What's that hair style called?"

She smirked. "A French bun."

Lady Jaye snorted. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Thanks," Cover Girl said, letting out a sigh.

"Are you tired of all the attention yet?"

"It's a little unsettling."

"Get used to it. It's the biggest thing that's happened around here in a long time. There's a lot of scuttlebutt going around."

Cover Girl stilled. "What scuttlebutt?"

Lady Jaye waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, nothing interesting..."

The elevator came to a stop at the appropriate floor. The doors opened to four DoD agents; they waited patiently for the two women to exit.

As they continued on toward the command wing, Cover Girl, making note of the increased personnel walking about, inquired, "Why is it so busy today?"

"Hawk is onsite," Lady Jaye replied. She then grinned. "Why? Is it as 'busy' as walking down that runway again?"

Cover Girl gasped, and she spun her around. "How did you know about that, Alison!"

"Apparently, Dial Tone made some friends at French Intelligence. There are pictures floating around with you strutting your stuff down the runway, along with your catfight with Zarana."

"I am going to kill Dial Tone!"

"There's no need; that was _sooo_ yesterday."

Cover Girl blinked. "Alison... what are you talking about?"

"Really, Courtney, you need to come out of that dingy garage sometimes." Lady Jaye hugged her clipboard and looked about, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "According to the latest scuttlebutt, when Roadblock went to prep the kitchen last night, he found that some miscreants had plastered poster-sized photos of you from the fashion show all over the mess..."

Cover Girl frowned. "Alpine and Shipwreck!"

"I wouldn't put it past them.... Anyway, Roadblock tore through the men's barracks, banging an empty trashcan, and said that if all the photos were not removed by morning's mess, that he would serve surplus MRE's for the rest of the year... There hasn't been a photo seen on base since."

Both women started laughing.

"Don't you just love that big lug," Lady Jaye said.

Cover Girl's countenance change to one of reverie, and she snorted. "Yeah..." And she parted ways.

"By the way, how was your date with the heavyweight champ?" Lady Jaye called out as she left.

"Goodbye, Alison."

Cover Girl continued on toward Flint's office. She rounded a corner and came upon Roadblock drinking from the water fountain; he waived, and they exchanged pleasantries.

"Are you also heading to Flint's office, Marvs?"

"I am," he replied, and he joined her. "So, how are you adjusting to life back in the States?"

"No adjustment necessary: France is a nice place to visit, but I'm afraid it would prove perilous to my waistline. How about you?"

He instinctively massaged the burn scars in his arm. "It wasn't as much fun the second time around."

"To be fair, it wasn't exactly a vacation."

He clasped his hands behind his back."No... but, it had it's moments, didn't it?"

She regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "Hey, Marvs, may I ask you something—" A DoD intern startled her to a halt when he brushed passed them hurriedly.

She yelped. "They're like cockroaches..."

Roadblock nodded. "I thought _I_ was the only one who felt that way." He regarded her change in demeanor. "Are you okay? What did you want to ask me?"

She blushed. "It's nothing. Forget it."

Roadblock shrugged. "Okay."

She then leaned against the wall and folded her arms, saying, "You know, Marvs, there _is_ this one thing... How did you know that Evrard was a Siegie?"

He smiled broadly. "Say no more."

He stood up straight, grasping his lapel, and he began to recite his account of events. Having told it so many times before in the grunt's lounge to his friends, he had the story down perfect.

"For me it always came back to the gun. The gun started the whole chain of events that led to us uncovering the Crimson Guard insurrection. Now, from an _evidentiary_ standpoint—"

"Since when do you start using words like 'evidentiary?'"

"We're not in France anymore; it's considered rude to interrupt."

She smirked. "Sorry."

"Anyway, as I was saying, evidentiari... evidentarly... stop laughing woman... _evidentiarily_ speaking, it was too convenient. The odds that the killer would use a Cobra pistol, coupled with the fact that there happened to be GI Joe agents on the scene to spot it, are highly improbable. The obvious answer was that someone _wanted_ us to find that Cobra gun. It was a catalyst designed to start us on the trail."

She approached. "Your powers of deduction are staggering."

"Thank you. So, taking that into consideration, I asked myself, 'Marvin, who knew that GI Joe was going to be onsite that night?'"

"Do you talk to yourself often?"

He ignored her and continued. "As it turns out, only four people knew for a _fact_ that we would be there: You, Myself, Métier, and Evrard. Now, I knew _I_ wasn't a Siegie, and I was willing to go out on a limb and assume that _you_ weren't a Siegie either..."

She giggled. "I appreciate that."

"You're welcome."

"Wait a minute, that's why you swept the conference room for bugs... You suspected way back then didn't you?" She punched his arm. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He ignored her and continued. "So, as we fast-forward to our _siege_ on the Cobra base, when Dial Tone told me that Métier was arrested for being the mole, I knew that Evrard had made his move."

She narrowed her eyes. "But, that doesn't explain anything. Evrard covered his tracks perfectly. Even though he got greedy at the end, there wasn't a single piece of concrete evidence that pointed definitively to him. So, how did you _know_?"

"My dear Courtney, someone wise once told me that in this profession, '...you hardly ever _know_ anything. All you can do is follow the evidence.'"

"Who said that crap?"

"That's not important, what is important is that we kept getting bogged down with details. If you look at Métier and Evrard, who best fits the profile for a Crimson Guardsman? On one end you have Métier: the desk-jockey-bureaucrat who has a tenuous career because he constantly makes waves. And on the other you have Evrard: the reserved military up-and-comer who stays under the radar and has a service record that is pristine to a fault."

Cover Girl rubbed her chin, her lips in a pout. "Yeah, that _actually_ makes sense."

"You don't have to act so surprised."

"No, it's not that, it's just... never mind." She sighed, placing her hand on his chest. "Thanks for having my back."

"That's what partners are for, right?"

She kissed him on the cheek. "The motor pool's not that far from the galley.... Don't be a stranger, C _hamp."_ And she left.

Roadblock grinned as he instinctively touched the spot his cheek, and he regarded her deliberately slow feminine gait.

"Stop looking at my ass."

He laughed and caught up to her.

They arrived at Flint's office just as a short stocky man in his late thirties, wearing a black ACU, was on his way out. The two Joes recognized Lt. Jenkins, and they stood at attention, saluting as he passed.

"Come in, you two," Flint said from inside his office.

Roadblock and Cover Girl entered the office and likewise saluted at attention. Roadblock winced from the pain of raising his arm too fast. Flint motioned them stand at ease, and they each took a seat in front of his desk.

Flint regarded Roadblock. "How are the ribs?"

"On the mend. Doc says I'll be at one-hundred percent in no time."

"Be sure to take it easy until then; I'm going to need you at one-hundred percent – all of you."

Flint retrieved a stack of papers from his inbox and arranged them in a pile on his desk.

"Let's get started," he said. "First of all, I have to account for this stack of invoices red-flagged for my review from Lt. Jenkins' team. I won't bore you with all of the details, but I do have a few that are... _questionable."_ He selected the top sheet from the list. "For starters, what is this invoice for a ten-course meal at Jacques Bistro about?"

Roadblock noticed that Cover Girl settled uncomfortably in her chair, along with Flint's sly grin at her expense. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs, saying with confidence, "Oh, that was a business lunch... you should be able to write that off: we were brushing ourselves up on special anti-terrorist surveillance-tactics-weapons-training techniques unique to France."

Cover Girl snorted.

Flint nodded. "I see." And he selected the next page from the stack. "How about this one... damages for a totaled ' _poojit_ '? What in the hell is a 'poojit'?"

Roadblock shrugged. "I asked her the same thing, sir. I _told_ her she should have rented an American car."

"First of all, sir, it's pronounced _Peugeot,"_ Cover Girl scoffed. "And secondly, I paid for the damage waiver, so it shouldn't count—"

"And racing through the streets of downtown Paris with total disregard for public safety?" Flint said, reading off the next line item from the stack.

"C'mon, sir, Cover Girl couldn't help that the brakes were cut. And to be fair, the Siegie was the one driving, all Courtney did was shoot the tires out so the car could slam into a building."

Cover Girl sunk even lower into her seat. "Marvs, stop helping..."

Flint grinned. "Actually, I meant the one where she was driving backwards while _you_ were shooting into traffic, but we'll put a pin in that other grenade for the time being."

Roadblock straightened. "Oh... You're gonna have to ask the heavyweight champ: _he_ was the one gallivanting about that night. It's come to my attention that I've been mistaken for him recently."

Flint narrowed his eyes. "Since when do _you_ use words like 'gallivanting?'"

"It was all over the papers," Roadblock persisted.

"Come to think of it, I do remember reading about what you just described in _Cool Trash_ magazine—"

"You read _Cool Trash_ magazine, sir?" Roadblock said, with a lopsided grin.

"Er— _Lady Jaye_ said there was a story about how the heavyweight champ was out and about with a woman that wasn't his wife... probably a prostitute."

Cover Girl gasped loudly enough to interrupt. "She was certainly not a prostitute! She was a high class fashion model." She glared at the two soldiers, ending with, "Who's above both your pay grades combined."

Flint's expression remained deadpan as he signed off on the mission debriefing summary addendum. He then discarded the rest of the stack in the shredding bin. The three of them shared a knowing look. The corner of his lip turned upward, betraying him. "Dismissed."

o-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o

The rest of the day was by the numbers. When the evening came around, Flint was so busy that he flinched at the familiar cannon blast, and he rose from his desk, regarding the flag visible through his office window, and he saluted as the bugle played _Call to Retreat._ At the end of _To the Colors,_ he stood down and regarded Lady Jaye in the doorway.

Her hand lowered from her brow. "Hello, _Top."_

Flint regarded her mischievous smirk. "Why do you persist in calling me that?"

"Because, I know it annoys you, and I am the only person on this base who can get away with annoying you."

"You're lucky that you're cute."

"Are you almost done here?"

"Yes. I take it that Hawk is finished with you?"

"That was _hours_ ago, so hurry up. You promised to take me to dinner off-base tonight."

His brow furrowed. "Oh, was that tonight? I thought it was tomorrow."

 _"Fairborne..."_ she warned, with her arms crossed.

"I'm just kidding," he said, winking at her. "I'll meet you in the grunt's lounge."

Lady Jaye left. Flint finished the last of his administrative duties and rose from his chair and turned the lights off. He closed the door, but almost forgot to lock it – again.

_It still feels like Duke's office..._

He made his way down the hall with a report gripped tightly in his hands. When he rounded the corner leading to the elevator, he passed by Hawk's office. The light was still on.

_The man is a machine._

Flint knocked on Hawk's door.

"Come."

Flint entered the office. Hawk was seated behind his desk with his head buried in a stack of allocation approval requests.

"General, I was on my way to putting my report in your mailbox, but since you're still here, I was hoping I could leave it with you directly."

"Sure, put it on my desk." He noticed that Flint hesitated to leave after dropping off his report. "Is there something else?"

"Permission to speak freely, General."

"Always," Hawk said, regarding him over the rim of his spectacles.

"It's about the mission in France..."

"What about it?"

"To put it mildly, I thought your choosing of Roadblock and Cover Girl was rather unorthodox."

"I see." Hawk took off his reading glasses, rose from his desk, and he walked over to his liquor cabinet. He poured two glasses of cognac. "Have you ever heard the term _Mise en place?"_

"No, sir."

"It's French, more specifically it's a cooking term. It means 'put in place'. If you've ever seen Roadblock in action, he puts all his ingredients, cookware and other prep items at the ready before following a recipe that he's memorized."

"I still don't follow, sir," Flint said, rubbing his scalp under his beret.

Hawk took a sip of his drink and sat on the sofa across from his desk. "When Cover Girl first started, she was delegated the task of bringing our Wolverines up to code. She pulled out the manufacturer's handbook and finished the job on time. However, she happened to notice that the same contractor also provided the same parts for our tanks, so she did a similar upgrade to the maulers. The following month, when orders came down to patch the tanks, Steeler didn't have a thing to do."

"I admit that a tech manual isn't an easy read, but I still don't see what this has to do with an intelligence OP?"

"It doesn't; that's the point. If I had chosen intelligence officers, they would have approached the problem from an intelligence angle. When this mission came across my desk, I knew I had a good old-fashioned _mystery_ on my hands."

"So, there was no solution from a political standpoint?"

"Right. So, I chose my point men accordingly. Where you saw a _gunner,_ I saw a soldier who lays all his assets out, then proceeds to put them together in a logical fashion until he reaches a conclusion. In other words, he follows an algorithm. Likewise, where you saw a _grease monkey,_ I saw a soldier who can take the dynamics of a situation and extrapolate the means to apply it in solving another. In other words, she excels in pattern-recognition. Those two were a perfect fit for solving my problem."

Flint snorted. "I think I get it now." He sipped his cognac.

"Good. You're in a position where you're going to be making more and more critical command decisions; sometimes you have to think outside of the box. When you send your men out in the field. remember that there is more to a soldier than what's in his service record."

"Hooah."

Hawk finished his drink. He walked back and handed Flint a fax that was on his desk. "It's funny that you mentioned the Paris mission... I just got off the phone with a Dr. Emile Métier. As a courtesy, he shared the results of their interrogations of the Cobras that were captured in France. That pass-phrase you have in your hand consistently came up in their investigations."

 _"Anaconda Prime,"_ Flint said, reading the fax. "I gather this is an activation code?"

"More than that, it appears to be an _Umbra-_ activation code."

Flint eyed Hawk warily. "So, we're not just talking about regional Siegie activity, are we? How many sleepers have been activated?"

"Possibly _all_ of them."

Flint downed the rest of his drink.

~The End~


End file.
